


Lately My Hands Don't Feel Like Mine

by siriuspiggyback, VeteranKlaus



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Dubious Consent, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Manipulation, Non-Consensual Possession, Possession, Rape/Non-con Elements, Season 2 Rewrite, Season/Series 02 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:01:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 46,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25734718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siriuspiggyback/pseuds/siriuspiggyback, https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeteranKlaus/pseuds/VeteranKlaus
Summary: Klaus, upon appearing in 1960, had promptly learned three things.The first was that ghosts can time travel. The second: Ben's not the only ghostie who can cling on for a ride.And the third? The third thing that Klaus had learned in 1963, he had discovered a month after landing, and rediscovered every day since. He had learned that ghosts, if they're motivated enough, can invade his body and make their home there. And they never leave.
Relationships: Ben Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves, Klaus Hargreeves & The Hargreeves
Comments: 993
Kudos: 914
Collections: Dark Fics and Horror Stories





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> just a little teaser

** 1344 **

Klaus, upon appearing in 1960, had promptly learned three things.

The first was that ghosts can time travel.

It had been a huge relief, knowing that he wasn't alone, lost in time, like Vietnam all over again. This time, he had Ben. 

The second thing he had learned quickly became evident, then: Ben's not the only ghostie who can cling on for a ride. The theatre had been full of the dead by the end, so it makes sense that a few of them had gotten dragged through with him, although Klaus could do without them screaming and weeping everywhere. It had been… loud.

Now, three years later, Klaus watches himself stretch in the luxurious bed in the luxurious mansion, languid and relaxed. His followers will be waiting for him, but they know not to wake him. There's no rush. Ben sits by the window, watching the grounds quietly, his shoulders relaxed. He had never looked this at peace in 2019. Ben is the only ghost in the room.

A smile plays over Klaus' face. "Morning, darling. Shall we go greet the children?"

Ben rolls his eyes, but it has no malice. "I guess so," he says.

In the small, dark corner that Klaus has been confined to, he weakly calls out to Ben, _'I'm here. I'm still here.'_ It's useless, he knows, just like it has been every day for three years, but he still tries every morning when they wake. It won't work, but Klaus doesn't know what he'll do if he actually gives up. (Metaphorically, of course. Klaus won't actually _do_ anything. That's kind of the problem.)

When they enter the main room, one of their followers is waiting for him. "Prophet, we received a call for you!"

"A call! Did you take a message?"

"Of course," the follower says, smiling nervously, passing over the note:

_Number Five has been spotted in Dallas, Texas._

A hungry grin tugs on Klaus' lips. "Looks like we're going back to Texas, Benny Boy!"

"They're finally here," Ben breathes, eyes wide.

Deep inside, Klaus weakly begs, _'Please, don't. Don't go after my family. Please.'_

As always, there's no response.

The third thing that Klaus had learned in 1963, he had discovered a month after landing, and rediscovered every day since. He had learned that ghosts, if they're motivated enough, can invade his body, his bones and his nervous system and his sinew and muscles, and make their home there. And they never leave. Not even when Klaus claws at the walls of his own mind, his own personal mausoleum, when he begs and whimpers and breaks.

The ghost says, with his voice, "I can't wait to see Five again." 

If he had a body, Klaus would have shivered. 


	2. Chapter 2

**1**

_ They’re leaving soon.  _

_ Klaus is all packed, which didn’t take long considering he hardly has any possessions beyond a few outfits that he didn’t even pick out himself. He’s got to look presentable, after all, when he has all these shows he’s doing. Which is exactly why he’s leaving Dallas. _

_ With his prolonged sobriety has come the strengthening of his powers, which in turn means that Ben has gone full poltergeist and can interact with the living realm. Klaus, despite what his siblings may say, is not an idiot, and being stranded in the past with no proof he is an actual person has left him with few job opportunities.  _

_ Besides, pretending he has telekinesis and can levitate with the help of one invisible brother is infinitely more fun than sweeping up. And infinitely easier, once he had the chance of running into an incredibly rich older lady who gave him the opportunity to start actually getting somewhere with a better audience; to make more money, and have a place to stay in a luxurious mansion, and all he has to do is trust Ben to lift him up in front of a bunch of other wealthy people. _

_ They’ve pretty much drained the audience in Dallas, though, and so they have plans to travel to another city. It’s not as if Klaus has any ties to anyone here; he is alone, besides Ben, and all he can do is assume that his siblings are dead. And if they aren’t, then they aren’t here, and this time around Klaus doesn’t have a briefcase to get back to them.  _

_ Point is; Klaus is making a living for himself. A very good living, at that. He’s making a bit of a name for himself as well, drawing in a bigger audience, and even Ben doesn’t exactly dislike it, as far as he’s concerned. It’s all going well; better than he could have ever imagined himself doing.  _

_ Just before they go, however, he’s deciding to take some time to himself. He can’t help it when he goes by to the alleyway he landed in around a month ago, as if his siblings might all just drop out of the sky together, or even perhaps just one of them, and he won’t be so alone, and he’ll know that they are okay.  _

_ The alleyway is just as empty as every other time he’s passed it.  _

_ “Such a shame, isn’t it,” comes a voice to his left, and he suppresses a groan. This ghost is not deterred by the way he ignores her, or the way he doesn’t hold back his irritation he feels towards her. She just grins at him, all sharp teeth and glinting eyes, and skips in step with him. “No one’s popped out, have they? You’re all alone, still. Except for me, of course.” _

_ Besides Ben, he thinks she might be the most active and grounded ghost he has met. She has, presumably, picked up on every conversation he’s had with Ben about their siblings, and so far she has feigned sympathy with him about it, pouting as she reminds him that his siblings must surely be dead and he’s just a man lost in time, surrounded by the dead. Not that he needs the reminder. How could he forget? _

_ Determinedly, Klaus ignores her, keeping his gaze on Ben’s back as his brother wanders away ahead of him, likely lost in his own thoughts.  _

_ “I mean, what did you lot expect, though? First time around, Number Five got himself stuck in an apocalypse for decades. This was probably the best outcome he could have hoped for.”  _

_ He wonders how much money he’ll make in his next show. It’s a run-of-the-mill thing; some levitation, playing with things in the air, whatnot. He might be asked to talk again, as he has done so only a couple of times before.  _

_ “Well, I suppose I could have been stuck with worse company,” the ghost drawls, nearly touching him. At least she can’t do that unless he makes her. Ben is a different case, because he always is, but he doesn’t channel any of his energy into the other ghosts so they can’t touch him. It’s not any less disturbing when they try, though. _

_ “I think we could be friends, Klaus,” she tells him. “Good friends, if you just spoke to me. Would you not like that?” She steps in front of him then, blocking his path, and finally Klaus gives her the attention she is so desperate for.  _

_ Folding his arms over his chest, Klaus coldly says, “no.” _

_ She continues to grin at him, never dissuaded. “That’s not so nice,” she tells him. Klaus rolls his eyes, taking steps forwards again. _

_ “Just leave me alone,” he grits out. He walks forwards, and she reaches out, and maybe subjecting her to the disorienting feeling of being incorporeal that Ben told him about will dissuade her and get her to stop following him, and- _

_ Her hands fall into him, and they stay in him, moulding into his own, and Klaus is suddenly struck with the endless sensation of falling, and falling, and falling.  _

_ He hits the floor, body trembling, and the ghost is nowhere to be seen, and his head feels light and airy. He tries to get up, but his hands don’t move the way he wants them to. Instead, they lift and outstretch; his fingers spread and flex.  _

_ “Oh,” someone says, and it’s him, it’s his voice. “Oh, this is… incredible.” _

_ He isn’t saying that. Instead, he is saying ‘what, what, what?’ but it never comes out. His head turns, and he catches sight of his reflection in the window of the building next to him; he watches his lips spread wide. He isn’t doing that. The ghost is nowhere to be seen. _

_ “Klaus?” says his brother, a few paces in front of him. “What are you doing? We need to go.” _

_ “Of course,” his lips say, and his body stumbles onto his feet. “Yes, let’s go, Ben.” _

_ It takes Klaus a moment to realise what has just happened, and beneath his own horror he feels amusement and glee bubble up in his chest, and he shoves it away, shoves and shoves and shoves, until he is falling again; falling fast and far. _

**1344**

They are leaving. The cult is packing their things, shoving all the necessities into the trunks of cars and into their travelling van. Klaus watches as they pack everything for him, sitting on the top of the van, leisurely awaiting for everyone to finish packing so they can head back to Dallas. There is a lemonade in one of his hands, and a book in the other. His fingers turn the page delicately.

“It’ll be nice to see the family again,” says the woman in his own voice. There’s no one around, and he knows she’s addressing him. Sure enough, she closes her book and instead pulls out a small makeup mirror, opening it up. She dabs under his eyes, along his cheekbones, while staring straight at him in it. It’s disorienting, staring at himself and yet someone else.

_ ‘No,’  _ Klaus says, though she can’t hear him. He knows by now that she can’t hear him.  _ ‘Please, don’t do this.’ _

“I’m a patient woman, but Five sure took his time,” she sighs. The mirror snaps closed and is set aside. The van rattles as someone climbs up the ladder.

“Prophet!” A follower calls, and she turns his head and grins with his mouth. “We’ll be leaving in just five minutes.”

“Perfect,” she purrs, and the follower preens under the attention before hurrying away again. Hardly a minute passes before someone else comes seeking his - her - attention, and a phantom ache echoes throughout him.

“Hey,” says his brother, sitting with his legs over the edge of the van, a gentle smile on his lips. 

“Hello, dear,” says the woman. “Excited to return to the mansion?”

Ben hums, and his eyes drift over the followers as they start filing into the multitude of vehicles they have. “We’ve got something good here,” he says, a kind of contentment in his eyes that he has never had before. “But I think everyone is excited to get back to the gardens there.”

“And such magnificent gardens we have!” She exclaims. “I have to admit, I miss the luxury of the mansion in Texas, though.” 

Ben snorts. “Of course you do, you narcissist. That one’s bigger.”

His lips spread as she grins widely. “And I love you too, Ben dear,” she says, and he feels a thrum of smugness, as if she’s gloating. Especially when Ben rolls his eyes, but, smiling fondly, he says,

“Yeah, whatever. Love you too, idiot.”

Klaus doesn’t think he’s ever told Ben he loves him; he doesn’t think Ben has ever told him it either. Ben has never been this peaceful and content by Klaus’ side, they’ve never been on such good terms before, and it is nearly painful whenever this ghost gloats the simple fact; Ben likes her more. 

They can’t talk to one another, but in response to her smugness he pushes forwards his own anger. Ben would be horrified if he knew the truth. 

Wouldn’t he?

In response to his flash of anger, he feels his own lips spread even wider in a mocking grin. 

“I’ll be downstairs,” his brother says, descending the ladder, and the woman waves to him. The van rattles as it is started up, and then his body is stretching his arms up into the air, smiling into the wind, as the journey back to Dallas, to his siblings, begins. 

Klaus hardly has a chance to make his displeasure known before he finds himself being shoved down, down, down, into the darkest corners of his own consciousness that traps him like a prison, and then there is nothing.

* * *

  
  
  


The mansion towers above him. 

It is dark, and he struggles to grasp the sudden disorientation of being aware again. The cult is moving around him, hurrying inside to pull the sheets off all the furniture, to start turning on the lights and lighting candles, cleaning the place up for he and Ben’s return. He’s stuck watching as his body wanders leisurely inside, making his way up to the main bedroom, the first room to be cleaned for the woman’s comfort. 

He writhes with discomfort when his eyes catch a portrait hanging on the wall above the bed that she falls back onto. It’s him in it, of course, only one of many portraits, and over his shoulder hovers the painter’s interpretation of Ben, glimmering with a spiritual glow. The cult praises him as Prophet, and holds Ben as some spirit guide, since the woman has deigned to inform everyone of Ben’s presence, and Ben seems just so happy that people actually know that he’s there. 

And then his eyes are moving elsewhere, closing, as the woman stretches his body out and melts into the bed, ignoring the followers that hurry to light candles and spread petals around the floor. 

Klaus can only guess that it is late, and that no attempts have been made to reach Five yet. It doesn’t bring him much comfort. It isn’t as if he can do anything to delay or stop her. She’ll go in her own time, and Klaus will watch helplessly, whether that is tonight or tomorrow or in a week. Whatever attempts he makes at getting his body back is met with the same result as the last three years; nothing but a threat to be shoved down, snuffed out. 

She sits up, and Ben is standing by the window to the left, staring out at the stars, and she stares in the mirror. Klaus stares back at himself, frustration and helplessness bubbling through him only to be tapped out. She grins at him, eyes sharper than his should be, and then she tips his head back and closes his eyes, twisting his fingers in the bed sheet below her, as if basking in the control she has over him, and, like the past three years have gone by, Klaus does nothing but sink a little lower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all liked this, and I hope y'all are Ready :)  
> -VK


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings in the end notes.

**1345**

Klaus, as always, wakes when she does. 

This morning, they are not alone in the bed.

It’s not a rare occurrence. She doesn’t take someone in every night, but it happens often enough, so there’s no real reason for Klaus to always wake up with a dizzying sense of horror. It’s always worse when he fights it. If he pushes back against her hard enough, he inevitably falls deeper into the dark, endless senselessness, and then hours slip by without notice. It’s more disorientating, that way, but then he doesn’t have to remember what she does with his body, doesn’t have to feel each touch. (At least when he isn’t there for it, he doesn’t have to feel that building dread-fear-pleasure- _ guilt  _ that threatens to bury him.) He can almost pretend it didn’t happen. And if he doesn’t fall far enough? Well, he can always pretend he would have chosen it anyway. Klaus has never been known for  _ declining  _ sex. 

It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s just sex.

She never lets them hang around, isn’t interested in morning after conversation, and her followers are always so damn eager to please. It isn’t long until they’re alone. Alone, together.

Slipping from the bed sheets, she dons a silk robe, and sits at the dresser. The morning light is soft and warm on his skin, accentuating the gentle flush of his cheeks, a glow that had never been there before this. It’s ironic, really. He looks better, healthier, than ever before, and it took being possessed to do it. She’s regimented when it comes to their appearance. Klaus’ hair is long, softer than ever, and she picks up a comb and begins to detangle his curls with dedicated patience. Despite her expensive conditioning treatments, it still knots easily. Klaus can’t help but feel a small, bitter victory in it. She’s made his body hers, but she can’t quite smooth him out completely.

Then, it’s a gentle cleanser, followed by a toner, a moisturiser. She curls his eyelashes - something in him tenses every time she picks up the brutal looking curlers, even though Klaus knows she would never ruin their appearance like that - and applies mascara. Then a tint to his cheeks, to his lips. She dusts powder over his skin, until he looks like a porcelain doll. It’s fitting; he doesn’t feel like a real person, either. Klaus shoves at the ghost weakly; it isn’t a real attempt at freedom, just a habit, a reflex. A cry into the void:  _ I’m here. I’m still here. _

With her beauty routine finished, she stares into the mirror. A benign smile plays on his lips. “I can feel you in there,” she says, “wiggling around still, after all this time. Honestly, I’m rather impressed at this point. Most people would have given up by now.”

Anger burns through him, and he focuses on it, because it’s better than the surge of helplessness that always follows.

  
  
  


**3**

_ “I can feel you, you know.” _

_ Klaus would freeze, if he had any control of his muscles. Instead, his body continues to gaze into the mirror, his own eyes reflected back at him. _

_ “Oh,” she says. It sounds- wrong. The cadence, the tone, it isn’t him, how is it that no one noticed? “You didn’t realise, did you? Yes, I can feel you in there.” There is a thoughtful pause. “Like a little tape-worm, hm? Clinging on.” _

_ With sudden violence, Klaus kicks out with everything in him, shoving at the ghost with pure desperation, but it’s like shoving against a brick wall: useless, and painful. He abruptly stops. Everything has gone hazy, distant, and he’s terrified of falling again, terrified that this time, he won’t come back from that place. _

_ She laughs. The sound is refined, and somewhat patronising, nothing like his usual wild laugh. He wonders if he always had that many teeth. “Oh, darling,” she says, “it’s adorable, really. I can feel all that delightful fear, all that awful confusion. I’m sure this must all come as quite a shock.” _

_ He imagines taking control of his face, turning it into a snarl, but it stays as it is, pleasant and watching.  _

_ “I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time to get used to each other, don’t you worry. We’ll be best friends in no time at all. Like roommates!” She slides a cigarette out of his packet - Klaus feels his nose crinkle at the brand, clearly not up to her standards - and lights it with steady hands. Somehow, she makes the movement look graceful. Practiced. When Klaus smoked, he always looked needy and wired, sucking the nicotine down like it was oxygen and he was starved of it. When she does it, it’s like she’s doing something elegant, like playing an instrument, hands lithe and delicate. “And Ben too, of course.” _

_ ‘No,’ he tries to say. Of course, it doesn’t work. _

_ The smile on his face widens, cheeks stretched with it. It doesn’t quite fit on his face. “Oh, yes,” she says. “Of course Ben will be here through all of it, our little ghostly sidekick. He’s ever so loyal, isn’t he? Between you and me-” she lowers their voice, although no one is around to overhear “-I think he’s feeling rather relieved at how responsible you’ve been these last few days. Have you noticed?” _

_ The worst part is that yes, Klaus has noticed. _

_ She hums in satisfaction. “Thought so. Well, isn’t that a relief? Your brother can finally be happy,” she says. _

_ ‘It won’t work,’ he thinks fiercely, attempting to push the thought at the ghost. ‘It won’t work, Ben will see through you, he’ll figure it out, you can’t keep this up forever, it won’t work, it won’t work, it won’t-’ _

_ A fine line forms between his brows. “What’s that you’re feeling?” she asks, bemused. “Is that… skepticism?” _

_ A vicious little thrill zips through Klaus. Finally, he’s been understood. _

_ “Ah,” she says, but it’s not a sound of worry. It’s oily and smug. “You don’t think I can play the part, hm? Well, that’s understandable, I suppose. It’s very easy to underestimate someone, especially when you have no idea who they are.” _

_ It’s something that Klaus has barely had time to wonder, but now, unease settles over him at the thought. Who is she? Who, exactly, is inside of him? _

_ Slyly, she adds, "But then, you do have a history of this, hmm? Letting people inside of you before you even know their name." She laughs, then, tinkering and light, and Klaus knows that she felt his reaction, his shock and his shame. "Oh, yes, I know all about you and your little exploits. It's quite an entertaining story, especially when you get to see all the sordid little details." _

_ How? How does she know all this? Can she see his memories? Has she been following him all this time without notice? _

_ Primly, she picks up a pair of tweezers, sharp and precise looking, and leans closer into the mirror, reaching towards his eyes, and Klaus would stop breathing if he could. She wouldn't - would she? It might not be her body, but she can feel the pain, can't she? _

_ With no ceremony, she plucks a stray eyebrow hair. She doesn’t wince. “You see, I’ve been watching your family for quite some time. Not you specifically - frankly, you’re one of the more predictable of the bunch - but I have kept a close eye on all of you. Know thy enemy, hm?” _

_ Klaus doesn’t know he’s made this enemy, but it isn’t a stretch; by the time they were twelve, the academy had already accrued more than its fair share of vengeful spirits. He is suddenly, desperately thankful that none of his living siblings are here with him. She might hurt Klaus, but at least she can't make him hurt the rest of them. _

_ "Well, not that you, specifically, are my enemy. No, you're a little too insignificant for that," she says, raising his eyebrows to inspect the line, before tweezing out another stray hair. "Your brother, on the other hand? He's another story. Yes, Five has become quite troublesome." _

_ Five? _

_ "I suppose you're already well aware of the commission, what with your little run in with Hazel and Cha-Cha," she muses, seemingly unaware of the shock of cold terror that her words provoke. “They’re not the brightest bulbs, but they are good at what they do, wouldn’t you say?” _

_ He doesn’t let himself think about it, doesn’t allow himself to draw the parallels between then and now, the way Klaus is still being held hostage, still helpless, motionless, at the mercy of the ghosts - or, this time, one ghost in particular. Fear threatens to drown him. It’s peculiar, feeling it, and yet not. His palms don’t sweat; his heart does not race. His body is relaxed and warm. Underneath his own spiralling terror, he can still feel her, all gentle amusement and calm callousness, whilst what remains of his mind races and shakes. _

_ “Well, I suppose I should introduce myself. Apologies for holding you in suspense, but I’ve always had a flair for the dramatics, even in death.” The smile on his face widens. “I’m Five’s ex employer. You can call me The Handler.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: implied/referenced non-con.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings in the end notes

**1345**

Despite all his skill in lying, Klaus doesn’t think he would be convincing if he were to say that giving up had not passed through his mind before. 

The thought is always sitting there in the back of his mind, quiet and reserved, waiting for the day he finally turns and confronts it fully. Some days the idea makes Klaus nearly nauseous, as much as he can be without a stomach; he vehemently rejects the idea of just _giving up,_ willingly handing over his body, his mind, his control, _himself,_ over to this woman, _The Handler_. He thinks of Ben, and he knows that he can’t give up on him and let this woman manipulate and play with him. He thinks of his other siblings, and the slim chance that maybe he will see them again, and knows that he has to be there for them; can’t let her wear his face and slip into his family like a wolf in sheep's clothing.

On these days, Klaus makes his anger and hatred for The Handler known as much as he can. He lashes out, he fights, he refuses to give her a moment of peace. He can see, sometimes, when it wears on her; when her mocking and smug smile turns tense with frustration at him, when she drops her playful tone to hiss at him when they’re alone, and he knows he can get to her, and it is the only victory he can get. 

However, on other days, his willpower isn’t so strong. Some days, he watches his brother laugh and smile at The Handler, happier than he has ever seen Ben before whilst being dead. He stares at his reflection as The Handler goes through her morning routine and notices how his skin has more colour to it, and his hair looks healthier than ever, how the jut of his hipbones isn’t so pronounced anymore, and knows that he wouldn’t look, and be, so healthy if he had been in control for the past three years. Some days, he drifts, and he doesn’t fight it or even her. Some days he shoves himself down rather than having The Handler do it, and it’s almost… peaceful.

Hell, it _is_ peaceful. It’s the most peace Klaus has ever had in his life; the exact peace he chased with his drugs that landed him in ambulances and hospital rooms. There are no angry corpses clawing at him, wailing his name day in and day out. There are no withdrawals, no cravings; no hunger, no cold, no pain. He doesn’t have nightmares - doesn’t dream at all. He just… stops. Stops feeling, stops being, perhaps; he doesn’t know and it doesn’t matter. Hours bleed into days and no one misses his absence; Ben continues to be happier with The Handler; the cult grows and praises her; it isn’t him. It isn’t him, and everyone benefits from it.

So, sometimes it is easier to just let go. Sometimes he does it and he isn’t sure he’ll ever come back from it, and sometimes he doesn’t care. He always does come back in the end, like how dead bodies always float to the surface, even if all he comes back to is his brother smiling with his absence and The Handler laughing with his voice.

It would be easy to give up, especially now, three years on when he can’t remember what it feels like for his body to respond to his commands; can’t even remember how to command his body to do things; when he fears there is no end in sight and his siblings will never come and his body will grow old and he’ll still be trapped. It would be so easy.

But he can’t. He might be clinging on sometimes, but he’s still there, and he’ll get out one day. He refuses to think otherwise. Not now, when there’s been a sighting of Five, which means he isn’t alone anymore, and perhaps his other siblings are here too. Even if that means that The Handler, after years of patient waiting, will track them down and do god knows what to them.

As if he hasn’t spent days pondering whether or not he should finally just loosen his hold and slip away, in response to what she says, Klaus gives another little shove. He’s still here. He’s still here, despite how long it’s been, how hopeless and scared he sometimes feels; despite everything, _he’s still here_. 

She chuckles, his chest bouncing with the sound. His hands seek out a nearby lighter and packet of cigarettes, a brand she approves more of, and she lights one up. The smoke curls into the air around them, makes everything a little hazily. He feels the nicotine rush down his throat, the smoke filling out his lungs. She exhales, taps ash into a nearby ashtray, and crosses one leg over the other. 

“I don’t know why you’ve not just,” she makes a vague gesture, “moved on already. I can feel it; how sad you are; how very scared, and yet here you still are.”

A little sharper, Klaus shoves at her again, embracing the flicker of rebellion that rekindles. All it does is manage to draw another laugh from her; makes his own shoulders bounce with the force of it.

“Oh, testy today, aren’t we?” She muses, and she burns her gaze into him in the mirror; smiles so sharply it looks unnatural on his face. “Darling, you don’t want to test me. Not when we need to go pay your dear brother Five a visit.”

That makes him freeze. Of course, he doesn’t want to make it worse, whatever she has planned. 

_‘I hate you,’_ he thinks. _‘I hate you, I hate you so much.’_

She doesn’t seem to pick up on this trail of thought or emotion, continuing with her morning smoke until she’s done with the cigarette, and then she stands. She wanders over to the wardrobe, picking out her outfit for today. With that sorted, she begins to leisurely make her way through the mansion. It all seems to have been cleaned up since they got here; sheets taken off the furniture, the place dusted, decorations hung up and flowers placed everywhere. As she passes her followers in their uniforms, they all raise their hands to their eyes and bow a little. Catching a glimpse of his tattoos mimicked on their hands, he can’t help the familiar swell of discomfort and guilt that he feels. 

Like always, they have a grand breakfast prepared for her that she eats while lounging in the early morning sun outside, and the cult busies around her, hurrying to bring the mansion and its gardens back to life. They steal shy glances at her, nearly trembling with giddiness at being close to her.

Klaus tells himself that he doesn’t feel envy at it, and feels nauseous when it doesn’t quite work.

Interrupting her leisurely breakfast, one of the more obsessive followers - Klaus can’t recall her name, Jane or Jenny or something like that, but she’s the one that Ben flirts shyly with when he’s corporeal - shuffles closer with a note clutched in one hand. “Another message came for you, Prophet.”

The Handler smiles magnanimously. She says, “Thank you, Jill,” (meh, Jenny, Jill, close enough) taking the note and flipping it open.

> _T.H._
> 
> _DH escaped asylum. Three Swedish hitmen attempted to assassinate DH._
> 
> _DH has joined FH._
> 
> _-X_

An amused smile flits over Klaus’ face. “Well,” The Handler says. “I think it’s time we get your hands dirty, don’t you think?”

_No,_ Klaus thinks. _No,_ because they’re his hands, not hers. _No,_ because he doesn’t want to kill anyone. _No,_ because he doesn’t know where this ends. He claws at the parasite inside if him, trying to peel her away from where her soul is clinging to control, rallying against the immovable object with everything in him, because he can’t let her do this, he can’t, he can’t-

Everything fades.

* * *

Klaus returns to awareness slowly.

It’s jarring, disorientating, like surfacing after an overdose. Everything looks too sharp, the corners cutting and the lights blinding. He can hear The Handler speaking with his voice, but he can't make sense of anything she's saying.

"... _okej?_ " she finally finishes.

It only then occurs to Klaus that she hasn’t been speaking English.

There are three men in front of him, all tall and blonde and staring. Klaus isn't sure, but he thinks they look intimidated, despite the fact that even the smallest of the group weighs twice what Klaus does. The man in the centre echoes, “Okej,” and Klaus gets the sense that he’s agreed to something, although he has no idea what.

The Handler claps. “I’ll be seeing you,” she trills, before spinning on Klaus’ heel and walking away. 

Klaus gets the distinct feeling that he's missed something important.

Usually, Klaus would think that there's a fair chance of her explaining things - if there's one thing that The Handler loves, its bragging about her own genius - but she's been reticent to talk about these plans. He suspects she's just looking forward to surprising him. 

He tries to prompt her to talk. Klaus isn't able to ask questions, but he can project his feelings clearly enough that she can usually pick up on his demands.

_What is going on?_

In lieu of a response, The Handler shoves him down, down, down.

** 33 **

**__** _Klaus doesn't know what's going on._

_Here's what he does know:_

_They are, for maybe the first time, alone._

_Ben had decided that morning to check out the alley they had first appeared in, hoping that there might be signs of their siblings. Things have been stable long enough that he doesn't demand that Klaus goes with him. This leaves Klaus truly alone with The Handler, with no hope of rescue, with no chance of Ben passing through the wall to check on him. It's nothing short of terrifying. Without Ben around to keep up the charade for, there’s no telling what The Handler might do to him, might make him do to others. He wants to fight, to rail against her, but he can’t bear the thought of getting pushed down deeper, of losing time and coming back to blood on his hands and no memory of how it got there. Instead, he will bear silent witness to whatever atrocities she might produce._

_She doesn’t tell him where they’re going._

_It’s a small torture of it’s own, the anticipation, watching his body stroll down the street at a leisurely pace. It’s not a shady part of town, nothing particularly interesting about it._

_It isn’t until she stops them outside a familiar hardware store that Klaus works it out._

_‘No, no, no,’ Klaus begs silently. “No, no, not him, please, anyone but him.”_

_But it is him, standing at the counter in his uniform, a name badge proudly proclaiming: Dave._

_He looks young. A baby, really, eight years before him and Klaus should have met. He’s barely into his twenties, cheeks still a little round with youth, jaw not so defined, shoulders narrower than the one’s Klaus remembers. There’s an innocence to him that Klaus had never seen before. He smiles when he sees Klaus, and it’s bright enough that he can almost pretend that Dave still knows him. “Hi there,” he greets cheerfully. “How can I help you?”_

_Klaus is wordless, but The Handler is not. “Hello-” she makes a show of checking his name tag “-Dave. I have a question for you.”_

_“Go ahead,” says Dave, all open and warm, unaware of the monster that stands before him._

_The Handler leans in, brushing the counter with Klaus’ palms. “Do you sell knives?”_

_Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck-_

_“Sure,” Dave says. “What kind are ya looking for?”_

_A grin stretches his mouth, and The Handler says, “The sharpest you have.”_

_At that, Dave falters - it’s slight, barely noticeable, but Klaus knows him too well. “Uh, you mean for a kitchen, or…?”_

_She hums. “A kitchen knife? Yes, I suppose that will do.”_

_"I'll just go grab one for you," Dave says, backing away with a nervous smile. Good instincts, not turning your back on a threat._

_The smile on Klaus' face is unwavering._

_"Here," Dave says, passing her the knife (thankfully packaged in plastic)._

_"Thank you," says The Handler, tossing some money on the counter. "Keep the change."_

_"Oh," Dave says, blinking. "Uh. You sure? This is-"_

_The Handler speaks over him, striding with deliberate steps to the door. "I'm sure I'll be seeing you around, Dave."_

_Another nervous smile. "Yeah. See you around."_

_She waits until they’re alone to speak, ducking into an alleyway, sliding a make-up mirror out of his pocket. Smiling into their reflection, The Handler says, “Now, I know that you Hargreaves’ aren’t known for your intelligence, but I’m sure you can appreciate a threat when you see one.”_

_Klaus supposes that it’s just as well that he can’t speak. He doesn’t know what he would say if he could, but he suspects it would be nothing but begging._

_“So just keep in mind next time you want to start a little coup,” The Handler says, “that I can gut your precious soldier before you have enough control to wiggle a toe.”_

_It might not be true… but Klaus knows that he won’t take that risk._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's some borderline suicidal implications in this chapter, all very vague, and some threatened violence


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings in the end notes.

**1346**

Klaus knows before they’re fully awake that it’s been a while.

When he goes - _away -_ for more than a few hours, everything feels a little fuzzy when he floats back up, like he’s been asleep, or drugged. He’s sure that, if he had a stomach of his own, he would feel queasy, but instead Klaus feels like the world rocks around him, like a boat on unsteady waters.

From the context, he assumes it must be the next morning; they are in bed, and the sun is filtering in from the east window. This time, they’re alone in the bed, a fact that Klaus is grateful for. It’s one thing to sink down when he knows that it’s going to happen, but it’s another thing entirely to wake up and have to guess what happened the night before.

The Handler gets out of bed and sits at her dresser, smiling at their reflection. He looks good. Klaus hates it. She starts their morning routine, cleansing his skin, combing his hair. She shaves his jaw, as always, so that there’s not a hint of stubble. When it’s done, she sighs happily, and says, “I think today’s the day.”

Alarm shoots through Klaus. He sends a wordless question her way, a silent demand for an explanation. 

“Oh, don’t be like that,” The Handler says airily. “Haven’t you missed your Five? I thought you’d be excited to see your brother. You know I’ve been looking forward to reconnecting with the little shit.”

**146**

_“Thank you, my children, for being here with me today,” The Handler says, a wide smile on Klaus’ face. “All of you are here because Ben and I consider you one of our most trusted children.” She shares a smile with Ben, who stands at her side, her loyal sidekick, before gazing back upon the gathering of people who are sitting cross legged at their feet. “We are here to imbue you with a most important task. You see, I have foreseen the arrival of a child - a thirteen year old boy - who will have a hand in bringing the end of the world in 2019. It is now down to you to locate this child. We do not have a photograph, but we know that he will have green eyes and dark hair, and will wear a school uniform. He will have a tattoo on his wrist of an umbrella._

_“If you do locate the child, then please, do not approach him. Simply inform myself or Ben at the earliest possible opportunity.”_

  
  


**1346**

Ignorant to Klaus’ turmoil - or, if not ignorant, then amused by it - The Handler sinks into a bubble bath. It reeks of the lavender oil she adds to the water.

“Will you shush?” she asks him. “You’re thinking so loudly that I can almost hear you. I’m trying to _relax_ before our big day.”

Klaus shoves violently at her. It only succeeds in making him feel more dizzy.

“Now, now,” The Handler hums. “I don’t think you want to be upsetting me today, do you?”

Bitterly, he stops fighting her. Klaus hates the thought of making this easy for her, but he hates the idea of what she could do to Five more.

A smile crosses Klaus’ mouth. “Good boy.”

Shame burns him. He doesn’t act out, though, doesn’t dare, no matter how much she degrades him. Klaus won’t risk his family. Their safety is the only thing he has left, and even that is on a knife’s edge, ready to tip. 

She begins to hum a tune, his fingers messing with the clouds of bubbles that cover him - not that he has any privacy left to violate. Fortunately, he was already thoroughly desensitised to his own nudity before he stepped foot in the 60’s, so it doesn’t bother him too much. After a moment of deliberation, she starts to soap up one calf, and picks up her razor.

Klaus isn’t sure why it bothers him so much. He was never adverse to shaving his body on occasion - enjoyed how it made him feel soft and refined - and yet, The Handler shaving his legs never fails to make him choke on hatred and anguish. He can’t explain it, why he always reacts so badly; even when she has sex, or worse, pleasures herself, Klaus doesn’t feel quite so overwhelmed with these feelings. The frustrating part is that she loves it. All of that pain, all of the anger and hurt, it just makes the whole thing more enjoyable for her, and yet he can’t stop feeling it all, can’t even begin to cover over the agony of it.

When his legs are finally smooth (they don’t look like his, they don’t look like Klaus, oh god, they aren’t even his anymore-) The Handler sinks back into the bath, and lights a cigarette.

“Now, the question is,” she says around the cigarette holder, “how do I stage it? It needs to look natural, of course, I don’t want him knowing that _stupid, useless Number Four_ is capable of surveilling that area for him. Maybe we just run into each other on the street, hm? A chance meeting?”

The thought is terrifying, because as much as Five can take care of himself, he would never expect it from useless, stupid Klaus. He can’t do anything to stop her, and even trying will only put Five in greater danger. Instead, he distracts himself by imagining what he would do if he got just a second of control. The razor is just there, after all, and without a body, The Handler is just another ghost. It wouldn’t take long to be able to grab it, to use it, quick and precise with years of medical knowledge from his Academy years, and The Handler wouldn’t have a chance to fight him back down. All he would need is two seconds. Two simple seconds.

But he can’t even get that.

Instead, he is stuck in the deepest corner of his mind, watching through his own eyes as if he’s watching a movie as The Handler parts bubbles with his own fingers and blows them off in a cloud of smoke. The razor sits on the side of the tub, taunting, glinting in the dim light of the bathroom, and he can’t even look at it anymore because his eyes are moving not of his own accord and god, he hardly even remembers that once he had been able to control where they looked. 

The Handler taps ash from her cigarette into a precariously balanced ashtray, before stubbing it out and pulling the cigarette butt from the holder and leaving it aside. She sits up in the bath a little, his lips pressing together in a thoughtful pout. “I suppose we could always just conveniently be around that place.” A pause, and the way his lips tug into a slight smirk causes him to feel dread bubble up somewhere within him. “Could even stop by that hardware store, right? If you still need yet another reminder that things can go very easily, and very nicely, if you play nice. If you don’t, then I can get messy, and I’m sure you wouldn’t want that, would you?”

Would she? Would she drag everyone down if Klaus made - or attempted to make - a scene for her? Even Dave; young and innocent Dave?

She would. He knows she would. 

She hums, seemingly pleased by the lack of reaction by him, or perhaps she picks up on his small strike of fear and _please no, please don’t, pleasepleaseplease-_

Slowly, she pulls the plug in the bathtub and stands up, gathering one of the soft towels nearby - it’s warm in his hand, one of her followers must have done that for her - and she wraps it around his body. Then she takes another one, twirling his hair in it, and she wanders over to the sink and the mirror. 

She stares at her reflection for a moment, and so does Klaus, and it’s her. It’s her in the mirror, it’s her that he’s looking at; it isn’t him, it isn’t him. How does no one realise it isn’t him? The green eyes, the high cheekbones, tinted lips; they don’t belong to him. Oh, god, it isn’t him anymore. 

For a few moments, she just stands there. She inspects his face, makes sure she hasn’t missed a spot in shaving his jaw. She takes pride in their appearance, and she has never done something to hurt his body, but he can’t help the fear he feels, mingling with an odd sense of shame and embarrassment. 

She pats his skin dry, leaves the wet towel for one of her followers to get, and walks naked back into the bedroom to figure out what she wants to wear for the day. She examines herself in one of the mirrors in the bedroom, twists and turns to look at his body from every angle as if it is her’s (and it is, isn’t it?) and then, finally, turns away from the mirror. His eyes skate to the windows nearby, peering out at the sun. 

Once she’s dressed, she wanders outside and takes a seat by the pool. Within five minutes, someone has brought her a pair of sunglasses and a cool drink. She crosses one ankle over the other, tucks one hand behind his head, and sips at her fruity drink. 

In the distance, there is the faint sound of laughter. His eyes remained closed, but he knows who it is, and he listens to it as it gets closer, tapering off a little. He hears Ben give a gentle, quick dismissal to one of the followers he was talking to - he’s close with one of them, Klaus has noticed, in the few glimpses he can catch - before approaching his side. He shimmers blue faintly in the sunlight and he doesn’t have a shadow.

“Hello, darling,” says The Handler, tilting his head to face Ben as he sits down next to her. Ben’s eyes jump to her, and he looks him straight in the eye and can’t he see? Can’t he see it’s not Klaus?

“Hi,” says his brother, flexing his fingers over the seat. He glances at the drink in his hand, then at the way she lounges leisurely on the chair. “We should go try and find Five soon,” he states. The Handler hums.

“Soon, soon,” she assures him. “We have all the time in the world, dear.”

Ben glances away. He misses the others, Klaus knows. Wants to see them all, and is probably feeling a bit impatient knowing that Five, at least, is so close to them. “Today, though, right?” says Ben. 

His head bobs as The Handler nods. “Today,” she agrees. 

Sighing, Ben nods slowly and looks away again. He looks like he wants to say something. 

_I’m here, Ben,_ Klaus thinks weakly. It’s useless, he knows that very well, but he can’t help it. He just wants to be heard again. 

Before Ben has a chance to say whatever it is that’s on his mind, however, a follower is hurrying forwards. “Prophet!” She calls, wringing her hands in front of herself nervously as she comes to a stop a few feet from them.

“Mmm?” The Handler hums, quirking an eyebrow in lazy curiosity. 

“We have a visitor asking for you at the door,” she says, and The Handler takes another slow sip of her drink. 

“Well, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to have some new company,” she finally says, sighing and setting her drink aside. Both her and Ben stand and make their way back into the mansion, passing bowing followers, before finally coming to the foyer.

If Klaus could breathe, he would have choked. 

_‘Allison,’_ he says into the nothingness surrounding him, and something in him twists painfully. Beside him, Ben gasps the same thing, and The Handler quirks an eyebrow.

Allison stands right in front of him, wearing a light, flowy dress, her hair shining and styled. She looks healthy, glowing almost, and her eyes light up when she sees him.

“Klaus,” she says, nearly breathless, and then she surges forwards and envelopes him in a hug. A sob echoes in his head as his sister’s arms wind around him, and a million thoughts race through him. She’s alive; she’s right here; she looks incredible, and she’s tearing up to see him again, her hands holding his arms tightly. Klaus wants to tell her how gorgeous she looks; wants to tell her how relieved he is, to see her again; wants her to hug him again.

But then it all comes crashing down in a moment of paralysing horror. Because Allison is right here; Allison is holding him tightly, and Klaus’ lips are grinning and he’s not doing that, he’s not in control; it isn’t him she’s talking to; it isn’t him at all. 

And then he’s sinking, going numb and hazy, shoved violently away and only just clinging onto his awareness, hanging over the edge of an endless abyss that threatens to swallow him whole and leave his sister with this monster that wears his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for; some suicidal ideation, references to non-con.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings in end notes

** 1058 **

_The Handler takes her time getting ready today. Usually, she keeps makeup to a minimum, but on occasion, she does like to play dress up, as if remembering her past. She lines his eyes, but it's nothing like the smudged kohl he's always favoured. Instead, she applies a sharp line, extending it out into a pointed flick. Klaus watches with the sort of haziness that accompanies being sucked down deep for too long._

_Absently, he remembers: Allison taught him this._

_Thirteen years old and obsessed with magazines and their beauty tips, his sister had pulled him into her bedroom one night to practice her technique. Klaus had been a willing guinea pig. It was one of the few things they shared, the two of them, their clandestine little makeovers, where they could talk about fashion and boys and all those things that their father disapproved of. Allison had still been learning, and Klaus had always been terrible at sitting still. That night, though, he had been just tipsy enough to enjoy some peace, and she had been feeling patient, so Allison decided to try out winged eyeliner. She wasn't very good at it; the line was crooked, and they ended up asymmetrical, but god, Klaus had felt beautiful._

_In the present, The Handler inspects his eyes with a cool satisfaction. "You know," she says, "I've always thought that there's a quiet dignity in accepting when you've been defeated."_

_Klaus thinks that this is probably true. However, Klaus has never been dignified even once, and he resolves that he won't start now._

**1346**

For a long moment, Klaus is battered by an indifferent sea of nothing. He loses sense of who, and where, and why, and he knows nothing but the dark.

Then, distantly, one word comes to him: _Allison._

Allison.

Where-?

Klaus struggles to cling to sense, to reality, although he feels like he’s tied to some great weight, pulling him deeper down. He screams into the soundless void.

Allison. He has to find…

Right. Right. She was here, wasn’t she? She had found them, at the mansion. He needs to be there, he needs to be present, he can’t leave his sister alone with _her._

Slowly, too slowly, sound starts to soak through the depths.

“You look- good,” Allison says, her voice warbled and far away. He realises she must be healed, her throat working again. How long has it been for her? “Really good.”

“Oh, thank you my dear,” says a voice that sounds like Klaus. “And you are looking positively _radiant,_ I must say.”

Laughing, Allison says, "I guess the 60's suit us."

"Something like that," The Handler says, and Klaus wonders how no one noticed the sly lilt. "Anyway, come, sit with me!" She leads them back out to the deck chairs. Within seconds, another follower presents them with chilled drinks, served with a bow. 

Allison raises an eyebrow. "So," she says, "you started a cult?"

Klaus hates the lack of surprise in her voice.

"Oh, it’s not a cult," dismisses The Handler. "It's simply an alternative lifestyle. I'm helping people, you see, people with no place to live."

Unconvinced, Allison hums. “Definitely seems like a cult.”

The Handler laughs, but Klaus can sense a flicker of annoyance. “Enough about me. What have you been up to?”

“Uh, well, I’m living in South Dallas, working as a civil rights organiser,” Allison says, her voice going uncharacteristically shy. She swallows. “With my husband.”

Ben breathes, “Wow.”

_Oh, Allison_ , Klaus thinks. There’s so much he wants to say. Who is this guy? Does he treat her right? How long has she been here? Has she seen any of the others?

“Aw, sis! You go girl! What’s his name?” The Handler asks, in what is a, frankly, offensive imitation. Klaus does _not_ sound like that. How does Allison not know that? Can’t she fucking hear it? That’s not him!

“Raymond Chestnut,” Allison says fondly.

“Does that make you Allison Chestnut? That’s adorable.”

It’s then that Ben finally interjects, “Make me real?” He has an excitable, impatient look shining on his face.

The Handler bites his lip in exaggerated indecision. “Allison, I have something to show you.”

Allison frowns slightly, and Klaus would love to think that she’s noticed the indescrepencies in his tone, the lilt to his voice which is so obviously _not him,_ but it’s more likely that she’s just surprised to hear Klaus be serious with her. “What is it?”

There’s a moment of anticipation - The Handler really does love to add a flair of drama to the mix - and then she tugs on his power, the well at the very core of Klaus’ being, and directs it into the ghost.

A gasp. “ _Ben?”_

“Hey, Allison,” Ben says warmly, holding his arms out for a hug. Their sister looks at him for a beat, as if waiting for him to waver or disappear, and when it seems he’s really here, she launches herself off the deck chair to sweep him into her arms.

“Oh my god,” she says, stunned, into his omnipresent leather jacket. “You’re really here.” 

"Yeah," Ben says, laughing wetly. "Yeah, I'm really here."

Allison leans back far enough that she can inspect him, as if checking for signs that he's not really alive. "This is _incredible_ ," she says reverently. "Klaus, when did you learn to do this?"

The awe in her voice has never been directed towards Klaus before, and isn't really being directed towards him now. They're only ten minutes in, and Allison already prefers this Not Klaus, is already glad for a possession that she's not even aware of.

"Oh, new decade, new me," says The Handler. If only they knew how literal it was.

Ben grins. “Klaus has been sober for three years now.”

If it were anyone else saying it, Klaus is sure that Allison would be skeptical, but it’s Ben, so she just says, “Wow, congrats!”

The Handler waves a hand graciously. “It’s nothing. Besides, making my brother corporeal is worth a little sobriety.”

Beaming, Ben says, “It’s been a good three years.”

“Three years?” Allison echoes, eyes wide. She drops back down onto the deck chair, dragging Ben with her.

“Three years. I’m the eldest Hargreeves now,” The Handler says. “Except for Five, if you count him.”

Allison shakes her head, looking vaguely stunned.. “What about the others? Have you seen anyone else?”

“No,” says The Handler, pouting.

“But we have a lead,” Ben adds excitedly. “Someone spotted a kid matching Five’s description.”

She lights up. "Do you think the rest of us are here, too?"

"I think so, yes. If Ben and I arrived first, and Five last, then I suspect Five overshot when he was traveling us back through time, and when he tried to pull in the opposite direction, the change in momentum threw us off. He left us scattered through time." The Handler notices Allison's stare, and concludes, "I mean, maybe. I saw something like that in a movie once."

At this, Allison rolls her eyes; as far as she's concerned, it's just Klaus being strange, which is in itself very normal. "Okay, so maybe the others are all here, then?"

The Handler claps her hands together. "Family reunion! I can't wait!" (Klaus, in the empty chamber of his mind, curses.) "Are you going to introduce everyone to your hubby?"

Allison's face falls.

With all the softness that has blossomed during his time with Not Klaus, Ben asks her, "What's wrong?"

"It's Ray," she says, voice pained. "We were organising this big sit in for when JFK is in town, but then he got arrested on bullshit charges, and I- I don't know what to do."

With his eyes, The Handler looks at his sister's throat, and the faded scar that divides it. Klaus can't tell what she's thinking. Is she pondering the best way to disable her power? Or is she thinking enviously of the powers she could have had?

** 42 **

**__** _At the dresser, The Handler delicately massages his temples, face pinched. The ghosts have been loud today. Whilst she has had some fledgling success at banishing spirits - more so than Klaus has ever achieved - it’s a taxing process, and there are always more ghosts to come. Maybe she will master it soon. After all, it's only been forty-two days. (Klaus has been counting. Is the only thing he can do, really. He fights, furiously, until things go distant, and he counts the days, although there have been instances where he's been pushed down too far for too long and he has to guess how long has passed.)_

_There's a particularly tenacious woman yelling by the window. Klaus can feel their headache throb with each shout, and The Handler's ministrations do little to soothe it._

_"I just had to possess The Séance, huh?" The Handler mutters. Klaus isn't sure it's directed at him; she hasn't bothered to stare in the mirror. "Out of all the Hargreeves, it had to be the one with the shit powers."_

_Klaus has never been so thrilled to have the weakest powers before._

_"I suppose I should be thankful. What if the only possessable body had been Number One's?"_

_He hates how she phrases it: a body. As if there isn't a person there._

_The Handler huffs a laugh, and finally looks up at him in the mirror. "Still," she muses, gently caressing his throat, "I would have quite liked Number Three. She's rather pretty, not to mention those rumours. Just think how easy it would be."_

_Klaus violently imagines stabbing her in the eye._

** 1346 **

"Well," says The Handler, "why don't we go rumour ourselves a police officer?"

Allison is shaking her head before The Handler is even finished. "No, no, I can't."

"What do you mean? Your throat looks healed."

In his peripherals, Klaus thinks Ben might be giving him a disapproving look, one that has become scarce in these last few years, but there's no suspicion there, because Klaus, the real Klaus, has always been a bit inconsiderate.

She looks out at the water, eyes distant. "When I got here, I had no voice. It was- it was _hard._ I didn't know where I was, and nobody was willing to help me, not until I was running from some racist assholes and hid in the hairdressers. I ended up getting a job, just sweeping hair, nothing glamorous, but… It was mine. I earned it, no rumours, no riches, just me. And then Ray came along…" Allison's expression turns warm. "The person I am here, the life I've made, it feels- _real._ I like this version of me."

_Oh, Allie._

Ben wraps an arm around her. "That's great, Allison."

"I respect that," The Handler says, voice a little too measured, "but I've got to say… Allison, I like this version of you, but you're my sister. I like every version of you, even the one with flaws."

With a curious glance, Allison asks, "What are you saying, Klaus?"

She bites his lip, and Klaus is sure that his face is the picture of deliberation, but he can feel that it’s false; all The Handler really feels is a smug excitement at whatever trap she's building. "Look, I know all about running from your powers, but in the end, they're part of you. They're part of who you are. You can't run from that."

"It's not like that," Allison denies.

“Isn’t it, though?” questions The Handler, taking a sip of her drink. “I’m not trying to be rude, I just don’t want you to think that you have to hide that part of yourself. You’re powerful. You’re a powerful, badass black woman, who can go do something about those racist officers, and free an innocent man. You have the power to do that.”

If there’s one thing that Klaus hates about The Handler - one of many - it’s how clever she is. Somehow, she’s twisted this into a feminist moment, as if it’s empowering, as if it isn’t a weapon. They’re talking about stealing someone’s free will. That’s what it comes down to, what it always comes down to. Someone’s agency, someone’s choice. It doesn’t matter how you dress it up. It’s just _wrong._

(Isn’t it? Isn’t it wrong? Surely it still matters, somewhere, to someone? Maybe Klaus has never been any good at making decisions, but aren’t they his bad decisions to make? And if so, why is it that those choices have been taken away, over, and over, and over again?)

Ben looks between them like he’s watching tennis. Match point.

“I suppose…” Allison trails off, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “I suppose you might be a tiny bit right, in a way.”

With a shark smile, The Handler says, "I'm always right."

"That's a lie," Ben notes, but he’s grinning as he says it.

"I still don't want to go back to using my powers all the time," Allison says firmly, almost a little desperately. "Not like before."

The Handler waves away her concern. "I'm not suggesting you whip out a rumour every time someone disagrees with you," she says, "but if you know you're in the right, then why not?"

"If anyone deserves it, it's bigots," Ben agrees.

And Klaus- well, he knows bigoted cops better than most. Even before the sixties, and the sixties _again,_ he’s had more than his fair share of run ins, sometimes for legitimate reasons - he’s not exactly a saint, with a rap sheet ranging from petty theft to solicitation- but sometimes just because some cop didn’t like the look of him, the way he was walking, the clothes he was wearing, and decided to make a problem. He doesn’t know the specifics that Allison has suffered through, and as a white person he won’t pretend to understand it truly, but he can empathise with her easily enough, and it enrages him, truly it does, and yet-

The concept that maybe some people _deserve_ to have their free will taken away from them…

Klaus is, he knows, not a good person. He knows he’s a useless asshole most of the time, a _druggie/hooker/weirdo_. He has no illusions about that. Since his choices got taken away, hasn’t he made better ones? Hasn’t his body been more useful, helped more people? Does that mean he deserves it, too?

“You’re right,” Allison says, eyes burning. “Those cops, they came into our home and _beat my husband,_ for no reason except that we want to be treated like people. They deserve- more than just a rumour.”

“We need to be smart about this,” Ben interjects. “We need a plan.”

The Handler leans forward in her seat. “Then let’s make a plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for mentions of violence/self-harm, canon-typical police brutality/racism, and some vague allusions to transphobia


	7. Chapter 7

**1346**

Allison’s car pulls up to a stop nearby the police station, just down the road. The Handler leans forwards a little, glancing between it and Allison. “Okay, it’s go time,” she says, rubbing his hands together. Allison looks back at him nervously, toying with her lip. The Handler raises an eyebrow at her. “Come on,” she says, resting one hand on the car door handle. 

“I-” She sighs, glancing away, and Klaus feels a flicker of irritation cross through The Handler. 

“Allison,” she says, mock sympathy in her tone. “This is the right thing to do - the  _ fair  _ thing to do. You’re just getting your husband out of a jail that he shouldn’t even be in in the first place! A rumour is the least those people in there deserve.”

“I know, I know,” says his sister. “It’s just - I worked so hard for everything by myself here, without any kind of rumours, and Ray works so hard too, and - maybe this isn’t the right thing-”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” The Handler almost snaps, but she quickly softens her tone and expression. “Allison, you’ve earned everything you’ve got. You know how much you can achieve without your rumours; you know that you don’t need to rely on your powers to get you places. Your powers don’t control you. This? Allie, this isn’t going to tip you over into some power hungry haze, don’t be silly. But those people in there? What they’re doing is wrong. You deserve your husband back, and they won’t listen. Using one rumour to fix what shouldn’t have even happened in the first place isn’t going to make you a bad person.”

Allison holds her gaze tightly, and Klaus’ heart breaks just a little. He’s incredibly proud of what she’s accomplished, how far she’s come with her struggle with her powers, and the life she’s built for herself, but she looks so uncertain in front of him now, with this monster controlling him trying to manipulate her. 

Angrily, Klaus shoves at The Handler, but he doesn’t want to risk doing too much; doesn’t want to risk setting her off whilst in front of his sister. 

He wishes she would notice. He wishes she could see him hidden behind his own eyes. 

Instead, though, Allison’s eyes harden and she nods, swayed over by The Handler. “Alright,” she says. “You’re right. Let’s go get Ray out.”

The Handler smiles, all smug and victorious. “Let’s,” she agrees, and they slide out of the car with Ben following them, invisible once more.

“Klaus,” he says, and she hums, tilting his head back to him. “Maybe… I don’t know. Maybe there is another way to go about this - you know Allison doesn’t like using her powers like this.”

The Handler pauses, body tensing before quickly relaxing again. She peels her sunglasses off, folding them and hanging them from her shirt. “Ben, those cops basically kidnapped her husband. It’s not right, and nothing we say can get him out. Well, except for Allison. It’s not like she’s doing anything bad.”

Surely, Ben thinks Klaus wouldn’t be saying this. That Klaus wouldn’t encourage this kind of thing - surely he must know. Ben frowns, avoiding their gaze, and says nothing more as they follow Allison into the police station. 

It isn’t surprising when the man at the desk completely dismisses her, hardly even looks at her after a first glance, and Klaus feels a sudden surge of anger as he witnesses just a little of the discrimination his sister has dealt with here, but Allison doesn’t let it sway her. The Handler just stands back and watches with Ben by her side - although from the corner of their gaze he can see the way his brother bristles - and Klaus just wishes fiercely that he could reach out and touch his sister.

“I heard a rumour,” his sister says, voice steady, “that you took me to see Raymond Chestnut.”

And he does. The rumour settles and without another word, he steps around the desk and guides his sister in the direction of the holding cells where her husband is. The Handler wanders a little closer to watch, and Klaus sees as one man in the cell hurriedly stands up, rushing forwards to meet his sister. Her face lights up when she sees him, and they hold hands through the bars for a few moments, purely happy to see one another again.

(Klaus tries not to think about the way Dave used to light up whenever he saw Klaus back in ‘Nam.)

Then, Allison turns to the officer, uttering another rumour, and the cell door is opened and Ray is let out. 

Allison goes forwards, reaching for her husband, but Ray stands with his gaze stuck on the dazed officer. Allison has to tug him away in the direction of the door, coming closer, until Ray snaps out of his thoughts and turns to look at a concerned Allison with wide eyes.

“What did you say to him?” He asks, and if Klaus was in control of his body, his stomach would have dropped. 

“Ray,” Allison says, frowning and resting a hand on his arm, “what do you mean? I didn’t-”

“You - you said something to him,” he says, dodging her hand. His eyes widen as he comes to a realisation and he steps back again. 

“Ray, what’s wrong-”

“Stay away from me,” he says. “You - it was too good to be true, you just appear out of nowhere, sweeping up hair, right as the movement kicks off-”

“Ray, what are you talking about?”

So quietly Klaus almost doesn’t hear it, Ray utters, “You’re working with them.”

“What?” Allison says, jaw dropping. “I - Ray, please, wait-”

“I -  _ stay away _ from me, Allison,” says Ray, and then he turns around and hurries out of the police station.

Allison looks heartbroken. 

A thrill of satisfaction shoots through The Handler, and Klaus feels the way she suppresses a grin. He knows that this is just her getting started. Allison isn't her main target, never was. She's just a convenient little puzzle piece, one extra little stab in the back, a tiny part of the suffering to come. Allison doesn't matter to her. She’s a target only through association, both to Five, her initial target, and Klaus, who has by now earned The Handler’s ire in the small ways he can. If she could gloat right now without being noticed, Klaus knows she would. It incenses him. Allison is important, and not just in relation to her brothers, and watching her be reduced to a pawn in this game burns deep. 

“Ray…” Allison breathes, taking a shaky step after him, only to falter, wrapping her arms around herself tightly, like she might just fall apart. Klaus both hopes and dreads that The Handler will pull her into a hug, because Allison sure looks like she needs one, but at the same time, every moment with The Handler touching one of his siblings is pure torture (and Klaus would know).

In the cells, men begin to mutter among themselves, suspicion spreading like a disease. They shoot narrow eyed glares at Allison, who shrinks into herself.

In his ear, Ben hisses, “Do something!”

Klaus wishes he could. Instead, he only watches as The Handler sweeps forward, guiding Allison from the room with a motherly shush. Under Klaus’ hands, her breath hitches with a choked down sob. She’s heartbroken; it’s a kind of suffering that Klaus is well acquainted with.

"There there, darling," The Handler hums, wrapping his arms around her and turning her to face the door. “It’s not your fault-”

“I knew I shouldn’t have done that,” Allison says weakly, shaking her head, only for The Handler to copy her action.

“Now, now, without you, he would still be in that cell. You got him out, and he can’t appreciate that-”

“ _ Klaus _ ,” Allison says, almost in sync with Ben. The Handler’s smile doesn’t falter.

“Look, how about we get out of here? Maybe you can find him and talk to him, or maybe he needs some space. I’m sure it’ll be fine,” she says dismissively, and she raises one hand to cup Allison’s cheek to swipe away the tear that falls from her eye, but Klaus knows that there’s no care in the gesture.

Allison stares around them uncertainly, but she seems to realise the slowly growing attention they’re under and she nods. They head back outside and towards her car, and Klaus can only watch as she wipes rapidly at her eyes, sniffling and upset, whilst The Handler just basks in it.

“He - he might have gone home,” she says shakily, but she sounds as if she doesn’t really believe that. The Handler smiles. Surely it has to look as mocking as it feels.

“Maybe,” she says, patting her hand. “Shall we head there, then?”

Allison exhales slowly, trying to compose herself before nodding, and then she starts driving back to her house. Klaus doubts that Ray is actually there. 

Sure enough, the house is empty when they get there, and Allison sinks onto the couch with her head in her hands, shoulders tense. Ben hovers nearby, mouth pressed in a tight line, hands flexing by his side. 

“Allie…” drawls the Handler, slowly wandering forwards until she can sit down next to her, resting one of Klaus’ hands on her shoulder. Allison subtly leans into the touch, sighing shakily, and when she looks up at them, her eyes glisten with unshed tears.

The Handler drapes an arm over her shoulders, pulling her against his side. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” she says, and there’s faint exasperation in her tone that Klaus hopes Allison doesn’t pick up - hopes his sister doesn’t think Klaus is fed up with her, or blames her too. “You did the right thing in getting him out of jail. Who knows how long he could have been in there for - what charges they might have come up with!”

“I should’ve thought of something else,” Allison disagrees, shaking her head. “I shouldn’t have done that-”

“Allie,” she says, sitting up a little. “You can use your rumours for good. Your powers aren’t a bad thing, and using them isn’t bad either. Ray might be… confused, but Allison, you can do good with your powers. Imagine what you could do for the movement.”

Allison looks at him with a mix of hope and horror in her eyes, wanting so desperately to reassure herself that she didn’t do wrong but knowing what happens when she uses her powers too much. Even Ben looks somewhat disturbed by what The Handler is saying, with how she not-so-subtly tries to encourage Allison into using her powers more. 

Good, Klaus thinks. He hates the idea of his siblings being upset with him, angry with him - horrified with him, even - but it’s got to build up to something; they’ve got to notice that  _ it isn’t him.  _ He would never say this.

Why do they think he would?

The Handler seems to notice the apprehension following her words and she sighs, sinking into the couch. “Look, sis, try not to worry about it so much. You didn’t mean to do anything bad - not that you even did - and I’m sure he’ll come back eventually and you can talk it out and go back to your grossly adorable marriage.”

It’s a joke Klaus would make, one that makes Allison snort, but he knows The Handler isn’t joking, and that the sarcastic malice in her tone isn’t sarcastic at all.

But at least Allison isn’t aware of that. Much to Klaus’ dismay, it seems Klaus-enough to shake her apprehension about him off and she wipes at her eyes again, sitting up. The Handler lets her. Klaus misses the touch, even if he never wants The Handler to touch his sister again.

“Come on,” she says, nudging Allison. “Girl’s night in, huh? Like the good ol’ times?”

Allison considers him a moment, eyes bouncing to the television and then the kitchen. Then, with a small smile, she offers, “I have cocktails.”

A thrill of old hope rekindles suddenly inside of Klaus, just as The Handler’s shoulders tense.

**18**

_ “God, this is exhausting,” The Handler says, pinching the bridge of his nose and exhaling slowly. “I feel like some monkey being paraded around for their amusement.” His eyes shoot up, meeting their reflection in the mirror, and Klaus stiffens under her gaze. “I suppose I should be grateful that your junkie ass wasn’t still sleeping in gutters when I possessed you, but now I have to keep your silly little scam up.” _

_ She rolls his eyes dramatically, sighs heavily, and leans back in the chair. They just got finished with another show, pretending to levitate in front of a crowd of rich people all ogling him, and now he’ll probably be expected to go out and mingle with them all. For now, though, The Handler took off to the bedroom to get a few moments of privacy, leaving the two of them utterly alone. _

_ She rises to his feet, wandering around the room before her eyes settle on the little wine cooler in the corner. He feels the way she lightens up, immediately making for it.  _

_ “Maybe I will get through this shit after all,” she murmurs to herself, and she begins to pour herself a glass of wine. The way she drinks it suggests to Klaus that maybe she really is fed up with dealing with the people all entranced by his scam - though he can’t exactly blame her, they’re all nearly insufferable - and that she probably doesn’t want to remember half of her interactions with them.  _

_ She drinks more, until Klaus can feel the steady buzz settle on his body, and with her last glass in hand she begins to tidy herself up in the mirror, sipping steadily. With each sip though, Klaus feels himself… slipping. Not in the usual way, when he’s been fighting against her hold on him and time and reality slips away into nothingness; no, now it feels as if he’s slipping closer to it, inch by inch.  _

_ And then, all of a sudden, the glass falls from his hand and he sways, and his eyes blink when he does, and his chest heaves when he exhales, and The Handler is standing nearby and blinking at him, wide-eyed in utter confusion. _

_ Of course. The alcohol and drugs always weakened his powers - of course it would work now. He laughs, and almost startles when the sound actually leaves his lips, and then he takes a step away from The Handler. He wants to run, but she’ll just catch up with him if he does, so- _

_ His eyes fall on the wine cooler. Ben will be disappointed in his break of sobriety, but he can explain it all later, after he’s gotten so drunk The Handler isn’t even around, let alone able to steal his body. _

_ He runs for it, and The Handler lets out an outraged cry, running for him, and she can’t, she can’t, she can’t- _

_ His body is torn in two, pulled around between him and The Handler like a game of tug-o-war that he is desperate to win. She sinks in for a moment, and he shoves, and his body seizes and trips, and his head cracks against the edge of the wine cooler.  _

_ When Klaus wakes up again, his body won’t cooperate with him, the alcohol has worn off, and The Handler is proud to tell Ben that they’ve sworn off alcohol completely. Klaus’ chance slips through his fingers and disappears. _

**1346**

“Oh,” says The Handler, grin spreading his lips. “I’m sober, sis! Completely. Help yourself, but I’ll just stick to orange juice.”

He knows she still wouldn’t drink now, but he can’t help the way his hope snuffs out by a wave of defeat, especially when Allison smiles wide and congratulates him, and The Handler grins even wider. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter does contain violence. please check the end notes for more warnings, stay safe<3

** 1346 **

The living room flickers with the light of the television screen, alternating blue and red. It plays across their faces where they sit on the floor, crossed legged in front of the screen, Allison leaning in with her eyes wide. The screen glares. Blue; a police officer brandishes his baton. Red; someone screams. Blue; another officer drags a woman down onto the floor, and her expression is the definition of fear. Red; he shoves her face into the pavement. Blue; a man is dragged out of the diner. It’s not the one Allison is looking for. Red; another officer whacks him around the kneecap, hard, and he drops heavily, propped up only by the bruising grip of the officer.

With each hit, with each cry, Allison sucks in a sharp breath, shocked over and over and over again. She doesn’t look away. Her eyes are wet and glossy, but her gaze is unwavering. The Handler, however, glances between the TV and his sister with a cool amusement that she doesn’t allow to show on his face.

Behind them, Ben numbly says, “They can’t do this.”

“Don’t be naive, Ben,” The Handler says, a little sharper than usual. Upon catching his reproachful look, she adds, softer, “It’s the sixties. You know what it’s like.”

Ben says, “There’s a difference between reading about it in history class, and… this.”

There’s some truth in that. Klaus is no stranger to police brutality, has been knocked around by a cop or five, but the sheer scale of this, the unthinking violence, and the inescapable knowledge that these officers will face no consequences, is maddening.

“History is always a little more bloody when viewed in the present tense,” The Handler muses, staring at Allison, drinking in her horror with a bloodthirstiness that terrifies Klaus.

  


** 958 **

_The Handler waves her cigarette holder through the air like a baton._

_Floating through the air is the crooning tones of Doris Day, accompanied by the gentle crackle of the record player. It’s the only sound in the room; they are alone. The silk sheets are unbearably soft underneath him, and he’s stark naked, which is characteristic of The Handler, who is almost as shameless with his body as Klaus had been, back when it was truly his._

_She sighs. “You know, back when we started this little arrangement,” - arrangement, as if it was a simple business transaction, as if Klaus had any choice in this whatsoever - “I didn’t have many clear plans. I mean, I wanted to kill Five, of course. I wanted to do it slowly, painfully. I figured I would kill the rest of you first, in front of him, and let him beg for me to kill you swiftly."_

_It's horrifying, and Klaus is sickened by the idea of it, and yet, it's… predictable. Klaus has no false expectations for how this ends, and any hope for an ending where his siblings survive had been stamped out months ago, a year ago, however long it's been. It was clear from the start how deep her obsession runs. That's what it is: an obsession. He's fairly certain that Five wasn't the one to kill The Handler, not directly. Still, she seems to hail him as some sort of mastermind, the only equal to her formidable intellect. It's funny, almost. Five is smart, sure, a genius even, but he's not the puppet master that she thinks he is. Still, it doesn't seem to matter to her. As far as she's concerned, he's the only worthy opponent on the board. She lost the game. Now, she's determined to get her rematch._

_"Of course that's still an alluring idea. After all, I'm really very good at slow and painful deaths. It's not my specialty, but I do think I would enjoy getting my hands dirty this once." She sighs again, and it has a dreamy, wistful quality to it. "Yes, really quite an alluring idea."_

_The Handler slips off the bed and meanders over to the record player, spinning lazily in place, the slow song seeping from its speaker. She dances one of his fingers along the varnished wood. "Recently, though, I've become more aware of the… subtler tortures that one can be subjected to. It doesn't have to be all electrocution and pulling fingernails. Sometimes, the most effective method of inflicting pain-" his hand darts out, yanks the record in the wrong direction; the needle scratches against it, and a harsh shriek is torn from the speaker, loud enough that it would turn his stomach, if it could "-is the one that involves no violence whatsoever."_

_She releases the record, and it spins again, but the needle jumps over the deep scratches left behind. The song is scarred._

_"Please don't misunderstand me, I do intend to kill all of you. It will be slow, and painful, and bloody. But first- well, I suppose I might just play with my food before I eat it."_

_Absently, The Handler drifts away from the record player, which is still fumbling it's way haltingly through the song, skipping and screeching as it goes, and takes a seat at the dresser. She smiles in the mirror. "I should say thank you, really," she muses. "The past few months have been really quite illuminating. I've never been so aware of how terribly a soul can suffer, even without a single ounce of violence. Really. Thank you."_

_The record skips. Drowning under the weight of his despair, Klaus sinks down, down, down._

  


** 1346 **

“I should have been there,” Allison murmurs, blinking at the television screen. “I was supposed to be there. And I could have - maybe I could have-”

“Allison,” says The Handler, her tone gentle. She reaches over, taking one of her hands in his, and continues talking. “It’s not your fault that the police went there. Unless you had planned to rumour every cop there, they would have only hurt you too. I know it’s hard to watch, but I’m just glad you’re safe here.”

Allison doesn’t look at him, too engrossed in the violence on the television to look away from it. Her hand barely twitches in his as if she hasn’t yet realised they’re holding hands, whilst her other one sits by her chin, covering her mouth. She does, however, pale a little when The Handler mentions her rumours.

“I - no, I couldn’t, not after - but I could have done _something,_ and what if Ray - what if he’s hurt? Back in jail? I-”

“Here, here,” says The Handler, and the sympathy in her tone is so false it sounds mocking, but only Klaus seems to pick up on that. She shuffles closer to Allison, wraps his arms around her and pulls her into his side, strokes one hand through her hair. “It’s okay. I’m sure he’s fine - you said not everyone was sure about doing the sit-in anyway, him included, so he might not have even gone - he’ll be fine. We can’t go look for him tonight, because - well, you know… there’ll be so much police activity, and it’s late, but I’m sure he’s fine.”

Allison, slowly, relaxes into his side a little, accepting the comfort offered, fake as it may be. Her head rests on his chest and she finally looks away from the television. The Handler raises her eyebrows at Ben and nods slightly to the television and, after a quick glance at their sister, Ben stands and walks over to the television and turns it off, getting rid of all those images tormenting them, and The Handler continues to comfort his sister.

Klaus wishes he could relish in the touch, in the feeling of having Allison beside him again after so long, but his sister is hurting and it’s because of him and the monster wearing his face, and Allison doesn’t even know how much danger she’s in right now, and the only consolation Klaus has is that she won’t kill her now, because she’s not played with everyone yet. 

The Handler squeezes her arm; uses his fingers to tuck Allison’s hair behind her ear. Woefully, Klaus thinks, _I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry._

After several moments, Allison inches away, extracting herself from The Handler’s hold. “It’s late,” she murmurs tearfully. “I - I think I’m just going to get some rest. You can stay, if you want.”

She wants to be alone, and Klaus understands that. She gives a gentle squeeze to his shoulder, offers an obviously fake smile, and then she turns and trudges out of the living room with only a vague nod of acknowledgement to The Handler’s offered _goodnight._

The Handler sinks back into the couch with a sigh, stretching his arms out along the back of the couch. She lets her gaze flit around the room quickly, and he knows she’s studying the place without being obvious about it. 

“Well, today has been a long day,” she announces, and starts taking off her shoes, setting them aside, and then she begins to seek out the bathroom. She’ll be upset about not having her night skincare routine here, and sure enough she turns to the mirror, frowning at their reflection and examining his skin. 

Ben follows quietly, leaning against a wall and folding his arms across his chest. He still looks unsettled, and Klaus can tell that he wants to say something.

“Maybe… I could go look for Ray,” he suggests, and The Handler tenses slightly. She glances at Ben in the mirror. 

“What do you mean?” She asks, voice pleasant and steady, as if she wasn’t at all affected by Allison’s hurt and what they watched on the television. Of course she wasn’t.

“It’s not like I need to sleep,” states Ben, pushing off the wall. “I can go and just look around, make sure Ray’s alright, so we can help him if he did get hurt or so Allison can find him tomorrow-”

“I can’t tell you how to spend your time, my dear,” says The Handler, “but I was thinking we ought to go and find little Five tomorrow - and everyone else, I’m sure he’s found the rest of us. Don’t you want to go and see everyone else?”

Ben gives them a look. “Of course I do,” he says, a touch defensively. “But Allison’s upset.”

Sighing dramatically, The Handler turns from the mirror to face Ben. “And there’s nothing we can do about that, Ben,” she says. “Allison got her husband out of jail and he reacted as if she was some freak. Hell, if he’s going to go about accusing her of stuff like that, then maybe…” She trails off, shaking his head and pursing his lips, and Ben frowns.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He asks, eyes narrowing a little, and The Handler waves him off and walks out the bathroom, returning to the couch. She pulls a blanket off the back of it, laying it over herself as she lays down and gets comfortable. 

After a few moments, Ben comes back into the room. 

The Handler stretches to a lamp nearby. “Goodnight, dear,” she chirps, and flicks the lamp off, dousing them in darkness. 

After a beat, Ben says, “goodnight.”

Virtually alone as The Handler tries to fall asleep (or perhaps just faking it), Klaus is left with nothing but his own thoughts. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> somewhat graphic depictions of police brutality/institutional racism, discussions of torture and murder


	9. Chapter 9

**1347**

An all too familiar noise wakes them. It’s a sound that Klaus has been dreading, one that strikes fear and horror into his very soul, one that he had hoped foolishly that he would never hear again. The Handler opens his eyes, a fish hook smile on his lips. She recognises it too. 

The _thwip_ of displaced air. 

Five.

The Handler doesn’t startle despite the sudden appearance in the living room. She rolls her head to the side and fills his vision with the sight of his brother, looking no different to the last time he saw him in 2019, save for a little more tense, perhaps, if that’s even possible.

He looks almost a little irritated to see Klaus, leisurely sprawled over Allison’s couch, calm and comfortable, but Klaus notices the way his shoulders relax just a little, a flash of relief flickering in his eyes. He wonders how long it’s been for him. 

“Klaus,” he says, and he can’t quite read his voice. Klaus is - conflicted. He’s conflicted. It’s been years since he saw his siblings, and he’s incredibly grateful to see them, to know that they’re safe - but they aren’t safe _anymore_. Not with him around - not with The Handler parading his body around, wearing his face. A part of him had hoped Five would never show up, while another part had been counting on him doing so - surely Five would recognise The Handler? Surely, surely, she and Klaus aren’t that alike that Five wouldn’t notice? 

(But three years have passed and _no one_ has noticed. Not Allison, and not even Ben, and if Five doesn’t, then… it’s over. He can’t do anything. He can’t stop her. So, Five has to notice. He’ll realise it within an hour.)

(He has to.)

“Five,” says Ben, voice quiet and awed, not dissimilar to the way he’d sounded when they first saw Allison. 

The Handler sits up easily, cocking his head to the side. “Well, hello there, Five,” she says, looking his brother up and down in such a way that makes Klaus want to shiver. He can feel her glee, her excitement, all bubbling up beneath the surface. If she wasn’t so good at keeping up her disguise, he’s sure she would be shaking with how giddy she is. 

“Klaus,” repeats Five, taking a step closer. His eyebrows furrow and he looks around the place, taking everything in. “I thought this was where Allison lived?” 

“Oh, it is!” She exclaims, clapping his hands together and rising to his feet. She casts a glance up to the ceiling, wiggles his fingers in a vague upwards direction. “Our dear sister hasn’t come downstairs yet, but this is her lovely abode! I was just crashing here for a night.”

“You found each other?” Five asks, and The Handler hums.

“Only recently. Before her…” She pauses, looks away and swallows. “I thought it was just me.”

Klaus hates how convincing she sounds. How good she is at playing with emotions. His voice wobbles slightly, and then she clears her throat.

“Klaus,” says Ben, sounding all eager, and Klaus knows exactly what he’s going to ask. “Klaus, make me real?”

“Get ready,” says Five, stepping backwards in the direction of the staircase. “We’re leaving once Allison’s ready.”

“Oh?” The Handler hums, quirking an eyebrow. “Where are we going?” 

“To the others.”

Ben bounces on his feet, impatient and not used to having to wait to be made corporeal. “The others?” He repeats, giving them a pointed look.

“The others?” Echoes The Handler, tone dripping with exaggerated curiosity as she prowls closer to Five. (Too close, too close to his brother, his unsuspecting brother.)

“Luther, Diego and Vanya are waiting-” he makes a movement to the stairs, obviously eager to tell Allison to get ready so they can leave, but The Handler moves even closer and cuts him off.

“That makes seven of us, then! All of us are here! How great is that?” 

“Seven?” Five murmurs, eyebrows furrowing, and then his face twists and falls into something so horrifically soft and vulnerable that Klaus isn’t sure he really saw it. It’s gone as soon as it came, but his voice is still soft and small when he murmurs, “Ben…”

The Handler’s grin spreads his face. “Ben,” she says, nodding.

“He made it here as well?” 

“Klaus-”

“I know, I know,” says The Handler, and then his fists begin to glow a gentle blue and Five’s eyes snap to the side where Ben is standing, widening. He doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and then Ben steps forwards. 

“Hi, Five,” he says, smiling brightly. He extends a hand, brushes it over his arm before settling it on his shoulder. 

In a blink of an eye, so fast Klaus almost thinks he teleported, Five jumps forward and engulfs Ben in a hug. His thin arms wrap like boa constrictors around Ben’s torso, his face hidden against his chest, and when Ben wraps his arms around him in return, a small tremor runs through Five’s whole body. 

Even Ben seems a little surprised at first by the way Five suddenly tackled him in a hug, but he returns it just as quickly, a smile permanently shifting his features. It’d be a lie if Klaus said it didn’t touch a part of him, seeing his two brothers hug. The moment is ruined by the way The Handler stands and watches the show and grins. 

After several moments, Five suddenly sucks in a breath and then steps back, letting go of Ben. His cheeks are dusted with a gentle flush and his eyes are still wide as he looks at Ben. His hands twitch by his sides and he opens his mouth, but he doesn’t say anything.

The Handler claps his hands together. “Well, wasn’t that just adorable?” she coos, only succeeding in adding to Five’s blush.

“When did you learn that?”

The Handler waves a hand in a dismissive, vague gesture. “We’ve had plenty of time,” she says.

“Klaus got clean, and stayed clean,” Ben says, and he glances back at him with a small smile, looking proud of him (he’s never looked at Klaus like that before - never had a reason to. And he still isn’t - that look is for The Handler.) “And we practiced his powers. He can do this now.”

Five’s eyes bounce over to Klaus, and he nods his head once. 

(He’s already more impressed with The Handler. He already respects her more. He’s not going to notice. Oh, god-)

But before either of them can say anything, the floorboards above them groan.

“Klaus?” calls Allison from upstairs. “Klaus? Who are you talking to?”

Five’s head snaps in the direction of the stairs again. All three of them (Klaus is still there, he’s still there) wait silently as if caught red-handed as Allison appears at the top of the stairs in a hastily put-together outfit. She takes one step down before spotting Five, and she freezes.

“Five?” she says, wavering on the staircase before snapping out of her thoughts and hurrying down. “You’re here, Five-”

“Allison-” Five steps forwards, pauses. “We need to go. Get ready.”

Allison pauses, blinks at him, and her face twitches with fond exasperation for a moment before frowning. She glances over to Klaus. “I - I need to stay here. Ray might come back-”

“Everyone’s waiting for us,” Five says, cutting her off. “We need to go - we have things to discuss.”

“Everyone else?” she echoes.

“Everyone’s here,” Ben says, eyes wide. “Allie, I’m sorry about Ray, but… we need to see everyone. We can come back here after.”

Allison toys with her lip, looking between him and Five, but Ben seems to sway her over. “I’ll be a minute,” she says, and then hurries back upstairs.

Five takes a step towards the door. 

Ben says, “I can’t wait to see the others.”

The Handler grins. Excitement courses through her, drowning out Klaus’ dread. “I’m sure it’ll be great,” she agrees, and she can’t take her gaze away from Five.

(He has to tell. He’s looking them right in the eyes. He’s staring at The Handler’s grin. He knows who she is. How can’t he tell? He has to know, _he has to know_ -)

But Five just stares at him and then looks away, waiting for Allison, and he doesn’t say anything else. 

Perhaps sensing his flicker of fear and dread, The Handler’s grin grows impossibly wider.

* * *

  
  
  


Five answers questions on the way there, and though Klaus knows he should only be focused on The Handler, trying to pick up on what she says or does - try to figure out how, or when, she might start her little plan to tear apart his family - but he can’t help but get a little distracted with the news of his siblings.

Everyone is safe. Everyone is here, and alive, and safe. Everyone has seemed to have made a life for themselves here, sort of, save perhaps for Diego (of course Diego got himself institutionalised within a week.) Well, and Vanya has amnesia, apparently? (When exactly did their lives turn into a made-for-TV movie?) Even without her memories, though, she’s doing leaps and bounds better than Diego. Ha.

Everyone is safe. And he’s going to ruin that. 

It hits harder when he walks into the building they all seem to have claimed as their new base and he sees everyone. As he watches Vanya come down, looking better than he’s ever seen her before - healthier, happier - and hug Allison; as Luther peers over the railing at them, something different to his stance, a weight taken off his shoulders; as Diego saunters leisurely over, eying Klaus (not Klaus) with a disguised smile. 

It’s been three years. He’s waited to see them for three years, and he’s utterly torn between feeling hopeless and horrified, or determined with renewed strength. He wants to fight The Handler, but he knows by now how useless it is, and he fears what she might do if he does; but he can’t also just sit by and let this happen. 

(What else is he supposed to do?)

(What else _can_ he do?)

“Hey,” says Diego, approaching him, eyes scanning him up and down. The Handler turns to him with a wide smile, bright eyes. 

“Hi, brother,” she greets, stepping closer; close enough for Diego to rest a hand on his shoulder. Diego’s eyebrows furrow a little.

“You look… good. You look good, bro,” he comments, a slight undertone of surprise in his voice, and Klaus pretends he isn’t at least a little hurt by it. The Handler just smiles.

“Well, thank you, dear!” says The Handler, squeezing Diego’s arm with one hand, flicking his hair with the other. “Decided to start living life! The sixties have surprisingly good hair and skin care products!”

Diego snorts at that, rolls his eyes, and he’s dismissed already. Just _Klaus being Klaus_. Klaus acting like Klaus; nothing else to expect, nothing to suspect from him. 

The Handler knows already how much they overlook him. She relies on it - is thriving on it, and really, that’s going to be the last nail in the coffin. No one is going to expect anything from Klaus. If he’s acting weird - it’s just Klaus being Klaus. No one expects his powers to be useful, or harmful, or dangerous. No one expects him to be strong, or a potential threat in any way. No one expects him to have connections with The Commission; with The Handler; with _any_ enemy at all.

No one expects anything but the lowest of the low from him, no one will pay attention to him, and they both know it, and that’s how she’s going to slip under their radar, how she’s going to cosy up to them, get close to them, play dumb until it’s too late, too late, too late. 

The only thing Klaus can be glad for is the fact that she is dramatic. She won’t let the chance to reveal who she is go before she hurts or kills any of them, so at the very least, they will know that it isn’t Klaus hurting them. 

Klaus isn’t sure how he’d cope with that. If their last moments were spent whole-heartedly believing he had somehow been converted to The Commission’s side; been planning against them; had murdered them all in sudden cold blood. He doesn’t think he could cope with that. Watching the light leave their eyes as his own hands dig a knife into their guts, or his own hands crush their throat, and watch them mouth, _Klaus, why? Klaus, please stop, Klaus, Klaus, Klaus-_

For a while, maybe only a few minutes, maybe only a few seconds, everything goes hazy and distant again. When he drifts back to reality, The Handler is sitting on an armchair, one leg crossed over the other. His siblings are spread out around him, a few sitting, a few standing. Ben shifts often, anxious and impatient and eager, waiting for the right moment to ask Klaus to make him corporeal again. It doesn’t take all too long; once they’re settled, Five is the one to announce that Ben is here with them, and The Handler reaches into his powers, snatches it from him (he’s always hated his powers, but now a ghost is in charge of them, stealing something woven into his very being, and it feels wrong - so wrong, wrong, wrong-) and there is a collective gasp as Ben comes into visibility. 

Diego and Luther stare with wide eyes and parted lips, and Vanya looks a mix of excited and guilty, amnesia evidently still uncured as she offers a welcoming smile to Ben, void of the same heavy grief Diego and Luther hold. Allison smiles again, and so does Five, and god. This is more than Klaus could ever give them. It isn’t even him doing this. How sober would he have been by now? How long would it have stuck, if not for The Handler stealing his body and forcing him into sobriety? Would he have ever been able to make Ben corporeal like this? 

There’s that little feeling again, that urge to just fall backwards, to succumb to the despair and the hollow feeling chasing him; to just submit and hand himself over to The Handler. Evidently, she’s doing a better job of being him than he ever could. She’s making his siblings smile. Making them happy, making them _proud_. He could never do that. He never has.

But he can’t just submit. He knows this is all just a show for her; she couldn’t care less about any one of them in the room other than Five. They’re all just pawns for her to play with and Five is her main goal. It isn’t his siblings fault that they don’t notice (why won’t they notice? _Why_ ? He wouldn’t - he wouldn’t start a cult, he wouldn’t coax Allison into using her powers after building up a life without them, he wouldn’t - this isn’t him! _Why aren’t they noticing_?) and he just needs to hang on for a little longer until they do. 

(Because they will. They have to.)

(They _have_ to.)

Ben gives a quick explanation of how Klaus’ sobriety allows him to do this now, and then he falls into another round of hugs with his siblings. Klaus is - he’s not upset, of course. He’s incredibly happy to see Ben interacting with the others, after _so fucking long_ of them believing him to be completely gone, of him being there and unbelieved, invisible, brushed off - of course he’s happy to see him finally talk to them again, to hug them, to be able to tell them things he’s wanted to tell them for over a damn decade - but it’s just-

Klaus wishes _he_ could give this to him. Because this is all The Handler’s doing.

And, honestly, without The Handler’s forced sobriety, Klaus isn’t sure he ever would have given Ben this, and he feels fucking horrible for that, now that he can see just how happy his brother is; how happy all of them are.

He tries to avert his thoughts again from wondering if The Handler should just remain in control, doing a better job than he ever could, to something more like - he’ll get rid of her, then _he can_ give Ben this _himself._ If he gives up, though, then it’s guaranteed he never will, so he simply can’t give up. Not now; not ever.

He’s stuck around for three years now. He’s not giving up now, even if it’s incredibly fucking hard to watch his siblings smile tearfully at The Handler, a silent thanks in their eyes, as they hug an equally emotional Ben, and to know that none of it is meant for him, and it wouldn’t be happening if not for The Handler.

Eventually, Ben’s re-introduction dies down and he gravitates back to their side, and Five begins the discussion he obviously wanted to do.

They’re stranded in the 60’s.

They have no resources, no briefcase, and Five’s powers are obviously not a reliable return route.

And-

Their father is still alive.

Klaus tries to overlook the phantom sensation of nausea, and hones in on the conversation, but it rattles on and on. No one is particularly interested in it, honestly; things have changed, after all. Even Luther has had time to change and grow, and probably is the least interested in it out of all of them, honestly. Klaus is somewhat impressed.

He isn’t surprised that, apparently, he had sought out a still-alive Reginald in this timeline, but he is somewhat surprised that the bad meeting they had was enough to spur him onto moving past Reginald and the Umbrella Academy, but somewhere below all of that, he’s silently happy.

(Living in the Academy was always being on edge. Always waiting for the other shoe to drop; for something bad to happen. For another bad mission; for private training; for someone to get hurt; for someone to die, just like Ben. And of course Luther stayed, and after Ben’s death there had always been the wonder of when would Luther’s turn come? Even if he wasn’t close with him, Klaus knew that being in the Academy only brought bad things, and he never wished harm on his brother; had always hoped he would, eventually, get out of there. It just happened too late. He still got hurt.)

However, Luther’s mention of their father brings the conversation to a sudden halt. An awkward tension hangs in the air, no one daring to look at one another as the realisation of their father being here and alive suddenly hits. Even Klaus feels himself, in some sense, going tense. It’s an ingrained reaction at this point, whenever Reginald is mentioned, or around.

He hadn’t thought about Reginald much since arriving here. Hadn’t actually thought about the fact that he’s alive now. That he doesn’t even know who Klaus is - he hasn’t adopted any of them yet, after all. It’s a weird, unsettling thought, honestly, and he tries to brush it off quickly. He doesn’t want to think about his father. 

(He might not be in control of his body any more, but he still has his own mind. Still has his own memories. The Handler sleeps in complete darkness, and Klaus still can’t escape the mausoleum, even in the back of his own mind - but here, he can’t reach out and turn a light on. He can’t chase it away at all. He’s stuck there, locked in there all over again. The memories, the nightmares, the flashbacks; they all came back worse once The Handler possessed him.)

Of course, however, his siblings all decide to delve into a conversation about him. Even Ben, still corporeal thanks to Klaus’ powers (and The Handler controlling them) joins in a little. The Handler just sits casually, listening to them all, and he knows she’s just absorbing all the information; taking it apart for weaknesses.

She knows Klaus’. Of course she does. He isn’t sure if she has the nightmares and flashbacks he does, but even if she doesn’t, she’s had three years with Ben. She’s managed to get Klaus’ own secrets out from his brother one way or another. She knows everything about Klaus. (Oh, she knows everything, she knows about Dave; Dave, who died, and who she can kill again before he even gets to meet Klaus, while he’s still young and innocent, hardly coming into himself, into the person Klaus knew. She knows everything. She just knows _everything_ , and she’s taunted him with it all over the years.)

And here, she picks up on everything else. On Luther’s immediate dismissal (avoidance, slightly forced - he’s moved past their father, sure, but the dismissal is too quick to be casual; of course his brother isn’t _completely_ over everything their father did to him in only a year) and on Diego’s sharp insults (still that young kid fighting for his approval, still bitter and resentful, still striving to be good enough to someone) and Ben’s own discomfort (he only ever wanted to do good, and it killed him, in the end.)

She listens to it all with a small, hardly noticeable smile on his own face, smugness bubbling through her as if she’s already won this all (and maybe she has.)

Although she stays fairly quiet for the majority of it, she knows Klaus, and she knows how he acts. She throws in random comments, mostly light-hearted jokes; some curses to their father, scoffs at ideas, etcetera. Enough to be acknowledged as Klaus, but just little enough to be overlooked. 

At least, until one comment.

“Look, I know it - it sucks,” says Five, posture tense, suddenly looking closer to his real age than the age of his body. “But he might be able to help us here - we don’t have much of a choice-”

Luther scoffs, shaking his head in adamant disagreement, and Ben carefully offers, always the negotiator, “it could be a plan, at least. Maybe not the best, or our first, but still a plan we can make and consider if it comes down to it.”

“Come on, Benny,” drawls The Handler, rolling his head over to look at him. “The last time I asked our dear old Daddy for help, he locked me in a tomb! What do you expect him to do? I doubt all seven of us could fit this time around,” she scoffs, and Klaus’ metaphorical blood runs cold.

(It’s so dark, he can’t see anything except the walls closing in on him, except for the ghosts surrounding him, hounding him, screaming and wailing and cawing his name, reaching for him with cold claws, forcing him back into the cold stone wall behind him, why won’t Dad let him out? He’s cried his voice hoarse and still his Dad won’t let him out, even though he’s promised to be good, to be better, _please, Dad-_ )

“What?” asks Allison, snapping Klaus back into the present. It still takes him a moment to gather himself, and once he does, he realises that everyone is staring at him - at The Handler.

The Handler blinks. It takes Klaus a moment to recognise what she’s feeling. 

_Confusion_.

“Klaus, what - what did Dad do?” asks Diego, his voice quiet. 

_Oh_ , thinks Klaus, with shaky glee. _She’s made a mistake. The Handler’s made a mistake._

She glances to Ben, her personal _Klaus Handbook,_ but sure enough, he’s sporting the same surprised expression as the rest of their siblings - perhaps even more so, considering he’s the only one who actually knows what she just referenced.

Klaus never wanted them to know. Never wanted to tell them. He isn’t sure why, exactly. It took him a while to even tell Ben - years, even, and he only really got it from piecing together all the nightmares and flashbacks - and maybe he just worried that maybe -

Maybe they wouldn’t believe him.

Would think he was saying it for attention. 

He knows he lies a lot - hell, he lies about fucking _everything,_ he knows that; sometimes he lied so much he himself never knew what was true or what was a lie anymore, and he knows it’s understandable for them to doubt him, but _that-_

He couldn’t handle that. He wouldn’t lie about that.

But now The Handler’s saying it, and everyone’s looking at him and not dismissing this as an odd joke, especially when they glance at Ben, still visible to them, with a disturbed expression on his face, because Klaus would never speak about the mausoleum willingly. Not this directly, at least. Not this carefree. Not this sober.

The Handler pieces together what just happened quickly, though, especially when she likely picks up on Klaus’ sudden glee. She sits up a little, swallows, looks away.

“Oh, don’t mind me,” she says, waving a hand as if she can wave off their attention. “Just - you know, thinking about our dear father. Didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

“No, Klaus,” says Diego, worry in his voice (would they have actually believed them if he told them before? Would they all have been this concerned for him? Would they all have cared like this?). “Dad - what did you-”

“Diego,” says The Handler, and she looks away and blinks a few times; Klaus feels his eyes moisten slightly. She opens his mouth, closes it, opens it, closes it and sighs. “Not - please, not right now.”

Goddamn crocodile tears. Goddamn Diego, actually listening for once. Goddamn The Handler for being such a sensational actress. Goddamn his family for not being able to tell that this isn’t him, that Klaus never just _accidentally_ spills his trauma, because every slip of information he ever gives has been risk assessed beforehand, regardless of how flippantly he says it-

Diego’s nostrils flair, but he backs off, eyes cutting away. “Fine,” he says. “But we’re talking about this later.”

“Thank you,” The Handler says, voice thick with a sincerity that Klaus would never have.

Predictably practical, Five cuts in, “Can we get back on subject? We’re _stranded in the sixties.”_

“We know,” says Allison, rolling her eyes. “Some of us have been here a while.”

Ornery, he responds, “You’re _welcome_ , by the way. Or have you all forgotten why we travelled back?”

Vanya raises her hand, expression somewhere between puzzled and amused. “I did forget, actually.”

There’s a brief silence - apparently, nobody is eager to tackle the exact details of their time travel - and Klaus is sure that The Handler would pounce on the opportunity, if she wasn’t worried about revealing something again and causing further doubt in her identity. 

“Has anyone had lunch?” Luther interjects with an awkward smile. 

“What about tacos?” suggests Allison with an eagerness that is probably more to do with Vanya’s temper and less to do with her love of Mexican food.

To Five’s irritation, the family meeting comes to a fumbling halt, but he seems grateful for the clumsy distraction despite himself. Even their little assassin has a healthy fear of Vanya’s wrath, it seems.

Whilst the siblings bicker about where to order from, Ben slides closer and mutters, “We need to talk,” nodding towards a doorway with a firm grimness. 

The Handler feels a flicker of panic - something that Klaus absolutely _relishes -_ but acquiesces, following Ben to a quiet corner, where they aren’t likely to be overheard.

Ben folds his arms, eyebrows raised expectantly. “So,” he says, “how about you explain what all that was about?”

For a beat, The Handler scrambles for an explanation for her bizarre behaviour, and under Ben’s suspicious gaze, something warm blooms in his chest. Something like hope.


	10. Chapter 10

**1347**

Under Ben's expectant scrutiny, The Handler flounders, and if Klaus had a heart of his own, it would be in his throat. This is it. This could be it.

And then she does the most  _ Klaus  _ thing she could do:

She panics.

“I don’t  _ know,”  _ she wails, flapping her hands. “I wasn’t thinking, I just said it and I didn’t even realise what I said until everyone was looking at me and asking me about it and I didn’t know what to say-”

“Woah,” says Ben, eyes wide, “okay, just breathe, Klaus-”

The Handler nods frantically, sucking in a gasp of air that belies the calm that settles over her, because she knows as well as Klaus does that she has the situation under control. She plays carefully shaking hands over his mouth, making sure not to rub away her makeup, and mumbles, “Sorry, I just- I just-”

“No, it’s my bad,” Ben says softly. “I know you don’t like talking about-  _ that.  _ I was just shocked.”

Shrugging weakly, The Handler says, “I was pretty shocked, too.”

Ben nods, but it’s half hearted. “It’s just weird. I mean, you’re usually so careful not to bring it up.”

“I guess…” she says hesitantly, “I guess I got used to it being just us, y’know? I got used to not having to filter what I say.”

At this, Ben thaws, reaching out to touch Klaus’ shoulder. “That’s sweet. I mean, that whole thing was definitely  _ weird,  _ and I’m definitely going to bully you over it when it’s a little less fresh, but y’know. Sweet.”

“Shut up,” The Handler says, knocking his hand away in a gesture probably meant to look playful, but reads to Klaus as impatient irritation. “Come on, let’s go back to the others.”

As they turn and head back to where the others are still sitting, Klaus feels the way his shoulders relax a little in relief, and he can help but taste bitterness. She made such an obvious mistake and Ben had picked up on it - but she had played off so well. The mausoleum should have been the biggest clue something was wrong, short of actually killing anyone, and here she was; getting away with that completely free. 

Klaus wishes he could even just glance at Ben, just to see if he held any lingering suspicion, but he can’t even do that. The Handler is preoccupied looking elsewhere.

By his siblings, there is a new person. He can hear their conversation, all talking about food and discussing places to go, as the new man suggests some places to Allison. However, he comes to a fumbling halt as he looks up and sees The Handler approaching; colour drains from his face and he trips over his words. He straightens up slowly, inches backwards, and The Handler simply smiles pleasantly.

**479**

_ They’re alone today. _

_ With the growing success in keeping Ben manifested and corporeal, his brother has begun dipping his toes into some new independence, often straying a little more from Klaus, for longer periods of time; and especially now, with their steadily growing - group, if it can be called that - where one follower has caught his brother’s eye. He’s been spending more time with her recently, and he’s sure that’s where he is right now. They’ll be reading books, or something equally as nerdy, which means Ben will be completely engrossed in that and he won’t be so worried about what ‘Klaus’ is doing. _

_ Which gives The Handler the opportunity to do whatever she wants without having to try and cover it up. _

_ Once she’s sure Ben is settled with his new friend, she decides to pay a trip into town, since they’re so close for once, a lull in between their recent travelling. _

_ Klaus has no idea what she’s planning (maybe, he thinks with icy dread, she wants to pay another visit to young, naive, innocent Dave) until she shows up to the alleyway he landed in a lifetime ago. _

_ It’s definitely not a good sign, but he can’t help but feel some curiosity as she wanders inside, hands on his hips, and looks around the place; scrutinising it as if she expects to see any traces of Five, or any of his siblings. _

_ She sighs when she finds nothing, though, and tips his head back to frown at the sky overhead, and- _

_ Something catches her attention. She turns his head to the side, eyes narrowing, and Klaus sees what it is; a camera. It’s set up on the roof of the building by their side, looking down directly into the alleyway. Just below, a figure dances out of sight in a window. _

_ The Handler quirks an eyebrow, and enters through the side door. _

_ It’s a television shop, currently closed for the day. The person they saw in the window is a middle-aged man who looks - honestly, rather terrified, when The Handler approaches.  _

_ “I saw that little set-up you have up there,” The Handler muses with a smile, advancing on him like a predator tracking prey whilst the man backs up until he hits a table. His hand lashes out, grabs a pen, and he holds it out in front of himself as if that could ever stop The Handler. _

_ “What - what are you?” The man demands to know. The Handler flicks her gaze to the wall over his shoulders, and it is covered in pictures of the alleyway, pictures of Klaus from his advertisements from his shows, newspaper clippings, conspiracy theories. _

_ The Handler keeps prowling forwards until she is right in front of the man, close enough to pluck the pen from his hand. She sets it aside, leans on the desk and gets up in the man’s personal space. “Keeping an eye on that alley, huh?” She asks.  _

_ The man presses himself further against the wall, but The Handler has him trapped where he is. _

_ “I - I saw it,” he says. He makes a brief attempt at trying to slide around The Handler, but as quick as lightning, The Handler shoots his hands out, grabs his shirt, and slams him back against the wall. A couple of photos fall to the floor and the man lets out a panicked half-shriek, turning his head away and screwing his eyes closed. _

_ The Handler leans close, a grin stretching his face wide. She hovers hardly a couple centimetres from his face and asks, “and what, exactly, did you see?” _

_ The man cringes. Klaus can feel him tremble beneath his own hands, and he suddenly realises that he isn’t seeing The Handler - he’s seeing Klaus. It’s Klaus’ own hands holding him against the wall; his own fingers curling into his shirt, knuckles pressing hard against his chest. He feels a little sick. _

_ “The - the thing!” He cries when The Handler gives him another shove. “The - portal, or tear, or - or-” _

_ “Oh, really?” She hums, glancing over everything he’s got pinned up. There’s a photo of a figure in the alleyway and is that- _

_ That’s- _

_ He can’t tell. The Handler looks away immediately; he only saw it in her peripherals. But it looked like… _

_ “Listen here,” says The Handler. “That ‘portal’ you saw - that’s going to happen again. And when it does, I need to know. It’s going to happen again multiple times, actually, but I only care about one time. But I’m a rather busy person. Do you get what I’m saying?” _

_ The man blinks at her. Klaus hears his audible intake of breath; feels his chest strain against his knuckles. When he doesn’t respond, The Handler rolls his eyes. _

_ “Look, you’re going to keep watching that alleyway,” she says. “And when it happens, and when it spits out a lovely little boy sporting a dashing uniform, I need to know. And you’re going to tell me the second it happens. Understand?” _

_ “I - I-” _

_ “Do you understand?” The Handler repeats, and one hand leaves his shirt to raise to his face. The man flinches violently, but she simply cups his cheek in a gentle caress, completely opposite to the way she looks at him as if she could just devour him.  _

_ “How - how would I-” _

_ “I’ll give you some addresses,” she says, stroking his cheek with a smile. “Send a letter, give me a call. Whatever. But the second that boy comes here, whether that’s in a week or in ten years, you will tell me.” _

_ “Ten - what-” _

_ “And if I find out you’ve not told me, or you’ve not been watching that alley…” she chuckles, low and dark, and it rumbles through his chest. “I’ll tear you apart, piece… by… piece. Got it?”  _

_ The man stares with wide, horrified eyes, and Klaus knows she’s got him wrapped around her pinky, albeit not willingly. He nods furiously, and doesn’t move even when The Handler lets go of him and steps back. She nods once, then she turns and searches for a pen and paper. _

_ “What - who are you?” The man asks after several moments, voice trembling.  _

_ The Handler smiles down at the paper as she writes several addresses and numbers in her elegant scrawl. Something like amusement bubbles up within her as she glances up, smiles, and says, “just call me Klaus.” _

  
  


**1347**

Elliott stares at them with a poorly disguised expression of fear, and when The Handler gives him a taunting little wave, he spits out a poor excuse about needing to put trash out and then scrambles away immediately. 

His siblings all exchange odd looks.

“That was weird,” says Luther, frowning.

The Handler shrugs. “You’d think he’s never seen a man wearing mascara before,” she says, lackadaisical. Ben shifts closer, protective, even against this perceived slight.

Five says, “I doubt it’s anything personal. He seems to be under the impression that we’re all extraterrestrials.”

“Ah,” Allison says delicately. 

“So,” The Handler says, clapping his hands together and smiling. “Where shall we eat? I’m starving.”

Diego supplies, “We’re going out to pick up tacos. You can stay behind with the girls, help catch Vanya up on some stuff.”

“Oh, goodie,” coos The Handler. “Girls night!”

“It’s one in the afternoon,” Ben grouses.

She shoos him off. “Go catch up with your brothers,” she says. “We’re fine here.”

Ben looks at him, and is Klaus imagining it, or does his gaze linger a second too long? “Okay. Play nice.”

The Handler gives him an innocent smile, and he turns and follows them out, leaving The Handler alone with Allison and Vanya. Klaus has no chauvinistic ideas about those two - they’re probably the most powerful of all of them - but it makes him nervous all the same. His sisters are powerful, but they also care so much about their family, which, to The Handler, is just another weakness to exploit. 

In the quiet left behind by their brothers, Vanya says, “So…” She’s still quiet and small, but something about her is more direct, more open, than Klaus remembers. “I have a sister.”

“Yeah,” says Allison, a little breathless.

“You really don’t remember anything?” tests The Handler, voice deceptively gentle.

Vanya grimaces. “Nope. Nothing past Sissy hitting me with her car.”

“Sissy?” Allison echoes.

“Yeah,” says Vanya, and her cheeks flush slightly, hands twisting together in her lap. “She, uh. She’s the person who took me in. I’ve been staying with her, and her family. She’s got a kid - Harlan - and I’ve been helping her with him, whilst she runs the farm.”

“Wait,” The Handler says slowly. “Do you  _ like-like  _ her?” The question is dripping with sardonicism, but it might pass as teasing at a glance.

Her hands press against her warm cheeks, smiling shyly. “I mean- um- we… yeah.”

“Wow, Vanya! That’s great!” cheers Allison, nudging her shoulder fondly. 

“I’m so happy for you,” The Handler lies. “And, like, such a huge step up from your last beau.”

She blinks. “My last beau?”

Allison hisses, “ _ Klaus,”  _ but it seems The Handler does not care about her plea for tactfulness.

“Yeah, your last boyfriend? Not exactly the pinnacle of high standards,” she muses. “What with all the murder.”

Vanya gapes at him.  _ “Murder?” _

“Klaus, would you shut up?” Allison says sharply, sitting up straight, shoulders squared. “This really isn’t the time-”

“What? Doesn’t she deserve to know?” she counters. “How do you expect her to make better choices if she can’t learn from her past?”

“Hey, do I get a say in this?”

Contrite, Allison says, “Yes, of course you do, sorry.” 

“I’m not trying to upset you,” The Handler adds earnestly, “really, Vanny. I just want you to be safe, and if you don’t know that people are coming after us, then how can you protect yourself?”

“Coming after us? You’re making it sound like- like some bad spy movie or something,” Vanya laughs nervously.

With an apologetic shrug, The Handler says, “It’s the truth. Your last boyfriend used you to get closer to us, and there’s a whole organisation on our asses if Five is to be believed. You can’t trust people’s good intentions.” The irony of the statement thrills The Handler, and sickens Klaus. Vanya looks perturbed, and a little frightened, and all Klaus can do is hope that this doesn’t poison the good thing that Vanya had going.

“Wait,” says Allison, “does that mean The Commission is still after us?”

With an incredulous smile, The Handler replies, “Did you think they would stop? They’re dedicated to maintaining the timeline, and we’re not supposed to be here.”

There’s a brief pause as the sisters consider this with worried eyes. Then, Allison turns to him, brows pulled low, and questions, “How do you know so much about The Commission?”

Klaus feels- not quite hope, he’s been down that road too many times at this point, but he feels a thrum of something, something close to excitement at the challenge, because even if there’s no hope, no chance of a happy ending, he doesn’t want this to be  _ easy  _ for her.

Except this was no slip up. No, if The Handler’s cool amusement is anything to go by, this was her intent all along. She twists his features into a nervous, evasive expression. “Oh, nothing,” she says quickly. 

_ “Klaus,”  _ reprimands Allison, now in full Mom Mode.

The Handler slyly asks, “I guess you really didn’t notice, then?”

Exasperated, Vanya asks, “Notice  _ what?” _

“Oh, y’know,” says The Handler, “my kidnapping.”


	11. Chapter 11

**1347**

Allison and Vanya stare at him with furrowed brows, expressions somewhere between confused and concerned.

“The - what?” Allison asks. Despite himself, Klaus feels a flash of both hurt and bitterness - he knew they wouldn’t notice him when he got kidnapped, and he had said it himself, but still, it hurts to have it confirmed - but he quickly pushes it aside. That was years ago. He can be upset about it later, but not when The Handler is manipulating his whole family.

The Handler hisses out a sigh, looking away and shaking his head minutely.

“No, Klaus - what kidnapping?” 

The Handler lets out a small, bitter kind of laugh, a sardonic smile playing on his lips. She shuffles closer to the edge of the seat, as if getting ready to get up and go. “Ignore me,” she says, tone dismissive and small and hurt. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Wait, Klaus,” says Vanya, reaching out, eyes wide, “what do you mean?” She looks to Allison for help, but Allison, even with her memory intact, is just as confused. 

“Talk to us, Klaus,” Allison pleads, “what kidnapping? What happened?”

The Handler looks away, jaw tense, but she slumps back into the chair in feigned defeat. Of course she was never going to just walk away and drop the subject.

“Back in twenty-nineteen,” she begins, and Klaus can’t help but grow tenser. He hardly thinks of the time he spent with Hazel and Cha-Cha now - hardly has for a long time, because the war drowned everything else out and it faded into the background, leaving only a few tiny silver scars, barely noticeable, dotted around his body, and then there was the apocalypse, and The Handler, and then nearly four years had passed - so he doesn’t often think about it, and honestly, with everything else he’s been through - he doesn’t really care about it. 

Sure, Hazel and Cha-Cha beat him around, but he still got out of there, and the ghosts and the closet were probably worse than the beating. But the fact that his siblings didn’t notice he got kidnapped - that hurt. The fact that that day was so insignificant to them that they forgot about it - it hurts. It just hurts, to be so insignificant to his family when he needed them.

(They didn’t notice him getting kidnapped - they don’t notice that it’s not him right now. It’s just - it’s hard to deal with.)

“Two of Five’s little Commission buddies paid us a visit, no?”

After a beat, understanding glimmers in Allison’s eyes and she nods. “Yeah, they broke in and shot up the house,” she says slowly. The Handler hums.

“That they did. And on their way out, one of them decided to play the hostage tactic and grabbed me. I was with them for…” she looks away, blinks a few times. Opens and closes his mouth and then stills. “Over a day.” Finally, she turns to face his sisters again, welcoming their wide eyes and hanging jaws. “They wanted to know where Five was, and thought that I would know. I mean, really, me? I told them - I said they got the wrong one. I was tripping balls that whole week, what could little ol’ me - useless little Number Four - know?”

Klaus knows that’s directed at him, and he can’t help but flinch in a way, withdrawing a little bit for a moment in shame. After a moment’s pause, letting what she said sink in, she continues on; “They didn’t take that for an answer though; thought if they hit me hard enough I’d suddenly know where dear Number Five was.”

Another pause, and she hardens her gaze at them. “I only just managed to get myself out of there. And it cost me.”

His sisters both stare at him with a mixture of guilt and horror. When Allison reaches out to him, her hand shakes before resting on his wrist. “Klaus, I - I’m sorry, I - I didn’t realise-”

The Handler shakes her hand off subtly. “It’s fine,” she dismisses, looking away. “I knew no one was coming for me - I didn’t expect anyone to notice I was gone. But… I guess I just hoped that maybe… maybe.” She shrugs, bites his lower lip anxiously. 

“Klaus,” says Vanya, her voice careful and gentle. “You - you said it cost you… what do you mean?”

The Handler blinks. He feels her urge to smirk, but she pushes it down easily.

“Oh,” she says in a quiet voice. “I - I escaped them by myself, you know.” Her eyes bounce to the side, glancing briefly at the now-invisible form of Ben as he returns from following the others, but she quickly looks away again. Ben doesn’t come too close, lingering around aimlessly, though he might disappear again - Klaus isn’t sure, since he can’t turn and look at him again.

Allison and Vanya nod, urging The Handler on. “There was a - a vent,” she says. “I snuck out through there, and there was something hidden in it - a briefcase. I had to take it with me, and when I got out, I opened it to see what was in there, and…” she spreads his hands out in the air, smiles with cold eyes. “Poof. It was their time machine.”

Klaus freezes.

She can’t be telling them about this. It’s horrible enough that she knows everything about him and Dave, but now she’s telling more people, parading Dave around for entertainment, using him as a pawn in her games, playing with the memories of him. She can’t leave the young, innocent Dave in this timeline; can’t let the memories of his Dave rest peacefully. And surely, she doesn’t need to do this. There’s no reason for her to tell them about Dave. There’s no reason at all, other than to just torment Klaus even further.

And it works. 

Distressed, Klaus withdraws a little more; enough so that the words she says are distant and muffled, but he can still watch his sisters, just to make sure they’re safe. He just - he can’t listen to this. He knows he should be on edge, paying attention to everything she does or says, waiting for her to strike, but he can’t listen to her talk about Vietnam; can’t listen to her say Dave’s name. 

She might know about Dave, but she doesn’t know him like Klaus does, he reassures to himself. She might know that Klaus loves Dave, and she might prey on that, exploit that, but she’ll never know that kind of love. She can’t take that away from him. 

She might know about Dave, but she doesn’t, and never will, know it from Klaus’ perspective, and she can’t ever take that away from him. 

She did try, though.

**23**

_ “We need to get something straight, here,” says The Handler, glaring into the mirror opposite them; glaring right at him. Klaus shoves at her presence, but it’s like shoving a brick wall, and it only ever results in her pushing him back, somehow.  _

_ Still, he isn’t just going to sit there and do nothing. Even if over a week of fighting her has resulted in absolutely nothing. _

_ He’s not going to give up. He’s not. And it seems like she’s getting the gist of that, too. Good.  _

_ “I’m the one that’s in charge here,” she says. She splays his hands out on the dresser they’re sat in front of. “No matter how much you fight, and how much you squirm, and struggle, and kick a fuss; I’m the one that’s in control. And you aren’t getting out. You might as well give up now, save yourself the time and the effort and make this easier for the both of us, because I can assure you, if you don’t, I can make things much, much worse for you.” _

_ She can’t hurt him, though. She can’t hurt him, and she can’t hurt Ben, and despite the few clues she’s dropped - and by clues, he means over-excited, dramatic tellings of her plans - she can’t hurt any of his siblings, either. None of them are here. She can’t exactly do anything other than continue to somehow bullshit Ben (why hasn’t he noticed yet?) and wait until the day Klaus inevitably overpowers her and kicks her back out of his body.  _

_ But the way she smiles - the way his face smiles - says otherwise. _

_ As if echoing his thoughts, she says, “I know you think you’re invincible. And in a way, you’re right.” His hands come up to skate along the angle of his jaw, inspecting. “This is my body now. I won’t harm myself - not my style, you see. Of course, this does provide a certain level of protection, but Klaus… that’s not the only type of pain. You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you, Klaus? _

_ “Oh, yes, I’ve been putting it together. I mean, I already knew a fair bit about your life, although that was purely incidental, a side effect of my research into Five’s life. It isn’t hard to figure out the rest. Ben really has been  _ very  _ helpful. Do you know what I found?” _

_ Klaus really doesn’t want to know, but he doesn’t think that counts for much. _

_ “I found that you, Klaus Hargreeves, have lived an exceedingly painful life. Not physically, no. The scars you carry are very much psychological, but they’re scars nonetheless, aren’t they? You’ve been hurting for a very, very long time. And you know what I think?” _

_ God, does this bitch ever shut up? _

_ “I think I see a lot more pain in the future for you, Klaus,” she says sweetly. Her hands - no, his hands, his hands - slide down the hollow of his throat, coming to rest above his heart. Above his dog tags. “You see, all that pain? It made you fragile.” His fingers curl around the cold metal, and the tags fit neatly in his palm, a familiar weight. With careless ease, she slides the chain over his head, and holds them up to eye level, reading that precious name again with her calculated stare:  _ Dave Katz. 

_ Then, with no ceremony, she tosses them into the trash. _

_ “Yes,” she says happily, the tone fitting strangely on Klaus’ voice. “I think it’s going to be very easy to break you.” _

_ Klaus can’t control his eyes enough to look towards the trash, can’t control his hands enough to pick them back out. He can’t even cry. _

_ But he can break. And break he does. _

  
  
  


**24**

_ Ben’s been staring. _

_ Klaus has noticed, and if Klaus has noticed, then The Handler has definitely noticed. She’s smart. Observant. It’s pretty inconvenient, actually; she’s clever enough to fool Ben, or at least, so far. But he’s sure to figure it out any moment now.  _

_ (Yesterday… yesterday had been bad, yes, and maybe Klaus had doubted things, doubted his brother. But he can’t give up on Ben. If he does - if this is truly how things end for him, slow and powerless and painful - then he thinks he’ll lose it, lose himself, become just like the ghosts from his childhood, just a twisted fragment of himself. So he just has to hang on. Just a bit longer.) _

_ Maybe Ben’s noticed a discrepancy. Maybe he’s noticed that everything about Klaus, the way he’s been acting, the things he’s been saying, they’re all just an inch to the left. _

_ The Handler rolls his eyes towards Ben, a smirk on his lips. “What is it?” _

_ “Nothing,” says Ben, turning away. _

_ “Aw, come on,” she says. “What is it?” _

_ Ben shuffles his feet. He’s not usually one to hesitate before speaking. Death does that to a person, Klaus thinks. This is not a usual situation, though, and Ben is pressing his lips together as if scared of what might spill out. Eventually, though, The Handler waits him out. She’s patient; another thing that Ben should be picking up on. “I just noticed that, uh… you’re not wearing those dog tags anymore.” _

_ “Oh,” says The Handler, although it’s without any real surprise. She brings his hand up to flutter over his chest, as if feeling for its absence. “Yeah.” _

_ “How come?” Ben asks, faux casual. _

_ She shrugs. “Ben, he.. Dave’s gone. He died, and I have to carry on living, and that isn’t fair, but I can’t- I can’t do it if I’m always back there, back with him. I have to go forward. Even if- Even if that means I have to leave him behind.” _

_ It’s a good speech. Oscar worthy. But it isn’t Klaus. _

_ Except Ben doesn’t say that. All he does is smile sadly, and hover a hand over Klaus’ shoulder in silent commiseration. _

_ And Klaus… _

_ Klaus can’t help but wonder: how does he hold on, when all hope is gone? _


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> check the end notes for content warnings. this chapter touches on some heavy themes (shocking, i know), so please take care<3

**1347**

Allison and Vanya won’t stop looking at him.

Their eyes dance constantly over to him, all sad and round and guilty, and The Handler basks in how smug she feels, having to push away the smirk that threatens to come up onto her face. She’s got them all wrapped around her - his - finger after her - _his_ \- sob story and they both know it. Being confronted with how they had left Klaus in the clutches of Hazel and Cha-Cha for hours, listening to the story of how Klaus found himself lost and stuck in a war, the story of how he found and lost love as Dave bled out in his arms, how Klaus painstakingly accepted that he was gone - they looked horrifically sad and guilty, and although The Handler had waved off their apologies, Klaus couldn’t be certain that telling them this didn’t have an ulterior motive; that she wouldn’t use this guilt against them or for her own benefit later. 

Or perhaps she just wanted to taunt them. Tell them all the bad things that happened to him like it’s a story, a joke, as if it wasn’t Klaus’ life; as if it wasn’t Dave’s life that she was exploiting. Tell them all of this, make them feel bad, and tell them later how they had done it again. How they’d sat and watched someone parade around in his body and use them all. How they’d never noticed it wasn’t even Klaus right in front of them. 

Klaus wishes he could convince himself that his family didn’t care about him. There had been a time when none of them had cared about each other - and it wasn’t even that long ago - and Klaus wouldn’t feel so guilty. Because now his siblings are here, and they’re showing that they actually care about him - even if it’s not really him right now - and they’re closer than they have been in a while, and Klaus is going to get them all hurt - get them all killed. And they won’t suspect a thing until it’s too late. If this was years ago, he could have convinced himself that there was no chance his siblings would help him, and he’d be able to just - give up, easier. He wouldn’t keep clinging onto the last shreds of hope just to be disappointed time and time again. He wouldn’t have to watch when The Handler finally kills them all. It all wouldn’t hurt so much. 

But he’s still there, and he has to believe that his siblings will find out, will help him. He has to, because he’s been waiting for them to help for three years, now. He’ll wait for longer; he’ll wait The Handler out, even if she spills all the dark secrets of his life, even if she tries to take Dave away from him. He’ll wait, because his siblings have to notice. She can’t take all of them out. 

(But no one will ever expect Klaus to hurt anyone. Would they be willing to defend themselves if it meant hurting Klaus? They would hesitate. The Handler wouldn’t.)

For now, though, neither Vanya or Allison pick up on anything, and he doubts they would even dare to say something if they did, too guilty to confront him. They stay somewhat quiet save for apologies, and by the time The Handler is gearing the conversation elsewhere, the front door opens and everyone else returns. The smell of tacos wafts into the room, and Diego and Luther drop bags of food on the table before handing out drinks. As they frown between the three of them already sitting there, The Handler wrinkles his nose at the food they brought, something not to her standards, and she occupies herself with stirring the straw in her soda. 

Five appears out of thin air (there’s always a thrill of excitement whenever The Handler notices him nearby) and snatches a coffee, ignoring the rest. The Handler stares at him as if she can’t draw her gaze away from him, looking him up and down in a way that makes Klaus feel sick. When he turns in their direction she hurries to snap her gaze elsewhere, and instead watches the way Diego’s frowning at them all.

“What’d you all talk about?” He asks hesitantly. Allison has yet to touch her food, and Vanya’s only half-heartedly picking at it, both silent. Allison looks at them, her eyes becoming sad all over again.

“I - I think they should know too,” Allison murmurs, but she looks for permission to discuss their earlier conversation. Permission Klaus would never give, because they were never supposed to even know about the kidnapping, about Vietnam - about Dave - in the first place.

Wandering over to sit in the corner, Ben scrutinises them all and frowns at Allison.

“Know what?” asks Diego, eyes narrowing. “Is this about what you said earlier? With Dad?”

“Alas, it seems more torture has happened to me than that of your father’s,” The Handler quips, but she holds her hands up in defence at the looks she receives. 

“Klaus was kidnapped,” Allison states when The Handler doesn’t dismiss her request to tell everyone, but she does roll her eyes at the admission. It’s something Klaus would do.

“What?” Diego says, eyes snapping to them. “When?”

“It’s not that big of a deal,” she mutters, inspecting his perfectly manicured nails. 

“Klaus - yes it is,” Allison says, voice wavering, before she turns back to the rest of their siblings. “When Hazel and Cha-Cha shot up the house in twenty-nineteen. They kidnapped Klaus - they had him for a day. And we - we didn’t notice.”

“The time travel,” Five murmurs, and The Handler’s lips twitch. She isn’t even looking at him, but she still seems to manage to pay more attention to him. 

“I mean, look - it’s not like I expected any of you to notice, or whatever,” The Handler dismisses, and Klaus cringes because that - that is all Klaus. She doesn’t have to lie about that. He never expected any of them to come for him. She waves a hand in the air and continues talking. “And Diego, dear, I don’t know why you’re so surprised - I told you about it,” she says, frowning at him.

“What?” Diego says, recoiling.

“Yeah, yeah I did. When you made me steal that ice-cream van.” Her gaze flicks to Ben briefly, then back to Diego. “I told you about it. Not that it matters - obviously.”

Allison turns to glare at Diego, who in turn just stammers out a vague sound, eyebrows drawn together as he tries to remember that conversation. “You knew about that? And you didn’t say anything?” She asks, incredulous.

“I - I didn’t-”

“Ah, don’t be so harsh, Al,” drawls The Handler. “He had, uh, more important things to do, or something.”

Allison opens her mouth to protest, but it’s not like she noticed him missing either, and she gives up on trying to think of something to say other than another gentle apology that The Handler revels in. 

“I’m sorry,” Diego echoes, eyes hard as he looks at him. “We should have noticed you were gone - I should ha-have listened to you. I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be too hard on yourself,” says The Handler. “I wouldn’t notice me missing either. I do have a tendency of, you know… running off and being unreliable. I guess I brought that upon myself-”

“But you’re sober, now,” says Vanya, and The Handler smiles. “Three years, right?”

“Right indeed!” 

“That’s - that’s good, Klaus,” Luther speaks up, genuine. Klaus hates how sincere he is. Hates that it isn’t meant for him. That without The Handler forcing sobriety onto him, the compliment wouldn’t have even been said.

“Danke, brother,” The Handler hums, but she barely spares him a glance.

Luther could take Klaus down easily. The Handler might have weapons, or the element of surprise, but in a fight - she’s still in Klaus’ body, still lanky and slim. Luther could take her down easily. 

“But Klaus,” says Diego, steely determination in his eyes as he ploughs forwards, and Klaus feels dread wash over him. “Earlier - earlier, you said about Dad - what did Dad do?”

The Handler suppresses a smile. Klaus wonders if she feels the horror he does whenever the mausoleum is brought up, whenever he thinks about it. He knows she would just revel in it.

She seeks out Ben with a nervous expression, fingers fiddling idly with the hem of her shirt. She raises her eyebrows.

Ben, arms folded over his chest, raises his own. 

The Handler turns away from Ben, dismissing his non-answer, and says, “Well… it doesn’t actually matter - it was a slip of the tongue-”

“You said - you said he locked you up,” Diego states. “That’s what you said.”

“Since when do you believe anything I say?” she says, voice silky and pleasant.

Diego’s throat works, like his words have gotten stuck; no sound comes out.

Five, though, is unflappable as ever. “Klaus, you’ve always had a predisposition for lying. It’s practically pathological. You can’t blame people for not always taking you on your word.”

This, Klaus knows, is a fair statement. There’s no reason to be hurt by it.

“Hold on,” Allison says, “I don’t think we can blame him for our mistakes. None of us have been particularly… _attentive,_ when it comes to Klaus.”

The guilt from earlier hasn’t abated, it seems, because Vanya is quick to agree, “Apparently, we don’t have a great track record with actually listening to each other.”

“We’re going to try to do better, though,” promises Allison. “If you’ll let us.”

The Handler looks away, bashful and unsure. “I- Do you promise you’ll believe me?”

“Absolutely,” says Vanya, her dark eyes steady and earnest.

“Then I guess I could…” The Handler trails off, wringing his hands together. His eyes slide over to Ben, who’s watching avidly. “I mean, Ben’s been trying to get me to talk about it for ages, so…”

Klaus is suddenly struck with the realisation that she’s not done yet. His kidnapping, the war, Dave, Dave, Dave - that wasn’t enough for her. No memory is too awful, no trauma too sacred for her to use against them. All the lines Klaus had drawn, the walls he put up, The Handler knocks them down with a smile. She won’t stop. _He can’t stop her._

“First,” she says slowly, “you need to understand about ghosts.”

“Ghosts?” Luthes echoes blankly, earning a swat on the arm from Allison.

“Ghosts,” The Handler agrees, amiable. “They’re not like people - our dear Benny here excluded. No, they’re not nearly so human as all that. They’re more like… fragments. You see, when a death is violent enough, painful enough, it leaves an imprint. That fear, that rage they were feeling as they died? It’s strong enough that it leaves a stain behind. That’s what ghosts are. They aren’t people, aren’t capable of compassion, or kindness, or understanding. So they do what ghosts do best: they haunt. They scream, or cry, or rage, or they get stuck in a loop of dying over and over and over. Sometimes they ask for help; they don’t always realise that they’re dead, you see.” 

Klaus can feel her (his) heart pick up a little, and realises that this performance has a fraction of honestly mixed in. Klaus isn’t the only one who’s been hounded by the dead now. She’s afraid of them too, just a little. Who wouldn’t be?

The fraction of real feeling evaporates fast, leaving cold, calculated precision in its place. “So I was scared of them. What child wouldn’t be afraid of them? Unfortunately, our dear daddyfound this unacceptable.”

The room is silent, suspended. Even Five, usually so unmoved, is leaning forward in his seat, fingers whiteknuckled where he’s gripping the arms. He breathes out, “What did he do to you?”

The Handler swallows, biting on his lip. “I think he was attempting, um, exposure therapy? Tried to get me desensitised. So he took me to the- the-” She cuts off, taking a gulping breath. Finally, she spits out, “ _Mausoleum._ He shoved me in and locked the door, and then he would leave me there until morning.”

Diego hisses, _“Fuck.”_

“The ghosts in there, they were _old,”_ she says, squeezing his eyes shut, “too old to really comprehend where they were. All they knew was that they were hurting, and- and that they wanted to hurt me.” Breathing ragged, The Handler gasps out, “Oh, the things they _said._ The things they wanted to do to me. Some of them wanted to kill me, but the ones that didn’t want me dead, they wanted- worse things.”

Allison clamps her hand over her mouth, as if on the verge of being sick. Even Luther, who’s never been Klaus’ biggest fan, looks pale and stricken.

And The Handler _loves it._

“I would beg dad to let me out, but he never would, because he could see it in me, hear it in my voice, how _scared_ I was. So I would stay there, in the dark, with their voices screaming, with their hands reaching out to me, reaching _through me,_ until dawn would break. And then I would go back the next week and do it all again.”

“We didn’t know,” Luther says, eyes wide and horrified, “we never knew that he was-”

“I know,” The Handler says softly. “I didn’t want you to. If you- if you had agreed with dad, if you had said I was too scared, too weak _…_ So I didn’t. Didn’t tell anyone. I would just pretend it wasn’t happening, y’know? But it was hard because- because they didn’t all stay in the mausoleum. The ones that- that _liked me_ , they followed me home. After that, they were always there, always watching me, whispering in my ear whilst I was trying to sleep, trying to eat, trying to take a bath- I couldn’t make it stop.”

(God, Klaus had never even told Ben about _those_ ghosts, the ones who wanted more from him than blood. He hadn’t wanted Ben to even imagine it, and Ben’s always been a little too _good_ to really consider it, but of course, The Handler has no such hang ups. Klaus wonders how much time she’s been ruminating over this, thinking up all these details, working out the full picture from the scraps of information Ben had unwittingly provided. It must have been pretty easy to figure it out; The Handler seems to know all about the sickest, most vile parts of humanity, and she never shies away from her own darkest thoughts.)

Five says, grim understanding on his youthful face, “The drugs.”

She nods. “They made it _quiet.”_

“Shit,” Vanya croaks. “You were just trying to make it stop.”

If only she knew how right she was. Klaus would give anything - _anything_ \- to make this stop. 

“All this time?” Diego asks faintly. “All those times I- I kicked you out for using, or when I flushed your pills, when I called it _weakness-”_

Voice artfully broken, The Handler says, “I just wanted it to be quiet.”

Allison pulls him into her arms, painstakingly gentle. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

“I just wanted it to stop,” The Handler whispers.

“You could have come to me,” Diego says suddenly, standing. “I w-would have protected you, I wouldn’t have let him-”

“What would you have done?” she questions tiredly.

He throws his hands up. “Whatever it took! I would have killed the bastard, if I had to, but I wouldn’t have let him-”

“Eight.”

Diego pulls up short. “What?”

The Handler looks at him. “The first time he threw me in there, we were _eight._ I don’t think eight year old Diego was really equipped to handle that situation.”

“ _Eight?”_ Five snarls. “You were _eight years old?”_

She nods miserably, and Allison squeezes him tighter.

“Fuck,” says Luther, “just when I think I know exactly how much of a bastard dad was…”

“I’m sorry,” Vanya says, reaching past Allison to hold his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Klaus.”

For once, for maybe the very first time, the family are all here for him, all listening to him, trying to understand him. For the first time, they see Klaus and all the pain he’s been carrying, and they aren’t turning away from him. They’re trying to hold him together. 

The Handler reaches up, puzzled, and touches his cheek. Inspecting the wetness on his fingertips, she frowns; she hadn’t been trying to cry.

And in the cold, hollow space that Klaus is trapped in, he sobs, and sobs, and sobs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: discussions of child abuse and CSA/voyeurism/threats of non-con and violence toward a child


	13. Chapter 13

**1347**

Lunch is a sober affair after that. The siblings pick at what remains of their tacos, disinterested, whilst they sneak unsubtle looks at Klaus. Allison is eating left handed, the other linked with Klaus. Normally, it would be frustrating, eating whilst his left hand is occupied, but The Handler is right handed and unbothered. Not that anyone notices this.

Ben, for his part, isn’t even trying to disguise the way he’s watching The Handler. Klaus prays that it’s suspicion, but he thinks it might just be concern. After all, Klaus  _ did  _ just air his trauma to the whole family, even cried in front of them. He’s probably worried that Klaus is having some sort of break down. Which- Klaus  _ is,  _ but that’s not the reason for his strange behaviour, just a consequence of it. Meanwhile, The Handler is positively abuzz with glee. The hell that was this afternoon was thrilling for her.

After the uneasy lunch turns to uneasy loitering, Five sighs, and pours himself another cup of coffee, holding it up to his chest like a shield against the rest of the world. Turning to the family, he says, voice flat, “We need to talk about our plan.”

“What plan?” asks Vanya, frowning lightly.

“We need to get back to our time,” Five informs them, “before we screw up the timeline any more than we already have.”

Sitting forward, Allison asks, “How do we do that?”

Five takes a fortifying gulp of coffee. “I think there’s only one course of action; we have to find dad.”

There’s a brief, stunned silence. Then:

“ _ Dad?” _

“Oh shit-”

“Already tried that, and-”

“That doesn’t sound like a good idea-”

Slamming his coffee cup down, Five says, “Enough! Y’all need to  _ listen to me.  _ I’m telling you, we need to talk to him.”

Vanya shakes her head, confused. “Why?”

Five says, “I need his help-”

At the exact same time Diego says, “To kill him?”

“No!” snaps Five. “We need help, remember? Besides, I don’t want to mess with the timeline any more than absolutely necessary.”

“He deserves to pay for what he did to us,” Diego says, “what he did to  _ Klaus.” _

Luther ventures, “I mean… he’s not wrong.”

Five, Allison, and Diego whirl to stare at Luther. 

Blankly, Diego asks, “Did you just agree with me?”

“I mean, I’m not saying we  _ murder him,” _ Luther says, looking faintly embarrassed, “but he does deserve to pay. I just- I want answers.”

“That isn’t the reason we’re visiting him,” Five reminds them. “We need help, and dad is our best bet at ever getting back to 2019.”

Vanya speaks up, “Look, obviously I don’t have a lot of context for all this, but do we really want to meet this guy? He sounds like a monster.”

“He is,” Five agrees flatly. “But he’s still the only person at our disposal who knows anything about time travel.”

Allison says, “I think Five’s right.”

Diego snipes, “Of course you do.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she demands, affronted, only for Five to interrupt. (Klaus can feel that The Handler is vaguely disappointed; things were just getting  _ good). _

“For every minute we waste discussing this, the longer we’ll be in this time period, and the more likely we will change something that shouldn’t have been changed.”

Ben says, "Make me corporeal?"

The Handler obliges with a sickly smile, and the siblings gasp and grin, Diego reaching over to slap his shoulder cheerfully, as if they hadn't just seen him less than an hour ago.

"So, seeing dad is a bad idea, obviously," Ben says, matter of fact, "but it's also the only feasible plan we have."

"Which makes it a good idea," says Five.

"Nope, still a terrible idea," corrects Ben.

Luther adds, "He'll try to pit us against each other, like always. Besides, after what Klaus just told us… I'm not sure I want to let dad anywhere near him."

Klaus would be happy to be thought of, if it was him at all.

The Handler interjects, "How about we ask Klaus what he thinks about this?"

_ Yes,  _ thinks Klaus,  _ why don't we ask me? _

"Sorry," Luther says sheepishly. "Klaus, what do you think?"

He can feel her deliberate over it. Both options must be tantalising to her, considering they both have the potential to go so horribly wrong. On one hand, Klaus is sure she wants to keep them stranded in the 60’s, where she has her contacts and knows the territory. On the other, is there anything more horrific than a family reunion? Finally, she says, “I think I want to see him. I’ve been running from my fear for… a very long time. I’m done being a coward.”

God, she’s not even  _ subtle  _ about it.

“That’s settled, then,” Five says smugly. 

“Wait,” says Allison, “but how are we going to get him to meet with us? He doesn’t know us yet.”

Five huffs. “I’ll figure something out.”

“That’s not a plan,” Luther points out.

“Well I don’t hear any of you coming up with ideas!”

“I have one,” The Handler says.

The siblings stop, the rising tension suddenly undercut by the statement. No one seems to know what to say; Luther is squinting at him, like he’s trying to work out whether Klaus is being sarcastic, and Five looks like he’s barely controlling himself long enough to humour him.

“ _ You  _ have a plan,” says Diego, voice dripping with skepticism. 

Mildly, The Handler asks, “Do you think me incapable of planning?”

The look on Diego’s face says  _ yes. _

With exaggerated offence, she says, “I see. All that talk about  _ listening to each other,  _ about  _ doing better,  _ that was all just talk, was it?”

“No! No, of course you can have a plan,” Allison interjects.

“So you trust me?” The Handler questions intently, eyes fixed on Allison’s expression, searching for a hint of reluctance.

Allison, despite being one of the smartest of the Hargreeves siblings, swears, “Yes, I do.”

The Handler claps his hands together, and says, “Excellent. I suppose I shall be off then.”

“What? Hold on,” says Five, “you haven’t even told us your plan!”

“I don’t need to,” she trills, standing. “You  _ trust me.” _

“She might, but I sure as hell don’t!”

Grinning, The Handler says, “You worry too much! I’m just going to have a little chat with him, man to man. We’re both successful, high society gentlemen - I’m sure he’ll be willing to listen.”

Diego throws in, “Are we talking about the same Reginald?” 

“See you later, lovelies,” The Handler sings as she sweeps out of the room.

Five yells, “Klaus! Get back here!” but only Ben follows them out, silent as a shadow.

* * *

  
  


It’s disturbingly easy for The Handler to hunt down Reginald Hargreeves.

She has connections, and a lot of them. Her cult would die for her, so finding someone for her is small fries, and they scramble to locate him with an eagerness to please that sickens Klaus.

Within an hour, she has an address.

As they drive across town, The Handler hums cheerfully to herself, paying no mind to the ghost in the passenger seat, who watches her with dark eyes and brows pulled low. Klaus thinks the drive might pass like that, in quiet dread, but eventually Ben breaks, leaning forward with his arms tucked tight around his stomach. “You’ve been acting weird,” he says.

“Have I?” The Handler replies, unconcerned.

“Yes,” says Ben.

The Handler shoots him a smile. “It’s strange times, Ben, being back with our siblings after so long. I’m a different person now, you know? And I think being around them is just showing how different I am now.”

Unconvinced, Ben says, “Maybe.”

“Don’t be such a worrywart, Ben,” she chides. “Everything is going great! We’ve got the whole family together! Is it so weird that I feel happy?”

“Kind of, yeah!” retorts Ben.

Klaus thinks it’s a fair point, but damn, did Ben really need to say it?

Pouting, The Handler says, “Can’t you just be happy for me?”

Ben sighs. “I want to be. I’m just… worried. You’d tell me if something was wrong, right?”

“Of course,” she says. “You know I can never keep secrets from you.”

“I know,” says Ben, looking away from him again with a frown etched into the lines of his face. There’s a minute of silence again before he asks, “so, what’s the plan?”

“The plan?” echoes The Handler.

“Tell me you have a plan,” Ben says, exasperated. 

“Have you ever known me to have a plan before?” 

Ben narrows his eyes at her and doesn’t respond. The Handler easily brushes over his silence. “Anyway, don’t worry about it.”

“We’re going to see Dad, I think I’m allowed to worry a little bit,” he grumbles. 

“Well, you’re dead, so it doesn’t matter much,” says The Handler.

“But you’re not,” says Ben. The Handler drums his fingers along the steering wheel.

“Well, not entirely,” she says. Klaus hates how cocky she is; riding her high of successfully tricking the rest of his siblings, confident that she doesn’t even have to try with Ben anymore after three years of tricking him.

Ben, again, doesn’t respond, and The Handler laughs at him, playing it off as some strange joke; and in some way, Klaus guesses, it is.

Ben falls silent for the rest of the drive, right up to the grand hotel where their father is staying in. 

It’s the kind of place that Klaus could never belong in - just like The Academy - with old, extravagant architecture and sprawling grounds. The real Klaus could never breathe in a place like this. Just seeing it now makes his skin crawl, makes him feel small and dirty. If he had to be here, Klaus would slink through, trying to remain unnoticed, and pickpocket along the way. It would never occur to him to walk in, head held high, like he owns the place and everyone inside, but that’s what he does, what The Handler does.

It’s a clever trick, he thinks. She walks through so confidently, so easily, that nobody even thinks to question her presence. Klaus wonders if he could ever do that.

There’s no concierge at the desk, but the maid only gives a brief smile as The Handler steps behind it and flicks through the book, finger trailing down the list until comes upon the name  _ Hargreeves, R.  _ With a pleased hum, she hooks the room key from the wall, and strolls along to the elevator, with Ben at her heels.

It’s strange, feeling afraid, and not afraid all at once. Klaus knows that he will be coming face to face with his father - his  _ living  _ father, not the version he found back when Klaus was already dead, back when he couldn’t be hurt anymore - the man who has haunted his nightmares for longer than even the ghosts have. And he’s scared. He wishes he weren’t, but Klaus has always been a coward at heart, and he doesn’t want to do this, would rather be anywhere else than here. He’s scared.

The Hander isn’t.

Klaus knows this kind of dread, remembers distantly how it used to be accompanied but the churning of his stomach, the rapid thump of his heart, but there’s none of that now, just quiet, cold calm. He’s like a ghost; no adrenaline, no organs, no blood vessels or capillaries, just hollow fear.

She lets herself into the room. 

If Klaus could hold his breath, he would, but it would have been in vain anyway. The room is deserted - except for the sound of water running from the bathroom, and a handful of ghosts - most of which are just blood and gore. In Reginald’s absence, The Handler makes herself at home, pouring a cup of coffee from the pot on the sideboard and lounging on the loveseat. She takes a sip. It’s bitter, and Klaus feels his nose crinkle in distaste.

Ben wanders the edges of the room, peering at the discarded papers on the desk. “Looks like dad was into some weird shit even before he adopted us,” he notes. “This stuff’s all classified. I can’t tell if he’s working for the government, or against them.”

“Old men and their games,” The Handler sighs, swirling her coffee cup.

He gives her an inquisitive glance, but before he has the chance to say anything, the water shuts off. Klaus has just enough time to pray that he isn’t about to see his father naked, and then the door swings open.

There he stands - wearing a robe, thank the little girl in the sky - Reginald Hargreeves, in all his indignant glory. “What are you doing in here?” he demands, slipping his monocle from his pocket and fitting it in front of his eye.

The Handler appraises him, eyes sliding over him and finding him… lacking. “I thought you would look more impressive,” she says.

(Ben frowns, but Klaus doesn’t think The Handler takes any notice.)

“Who sent you?” Reginald questions, brow furrowed, eyes curious.

“I suppose you did,” muses The Handler, “in a roundabout way.”

Unruffled, Reginald strides into the room, past Ben, and straightens the papers there. “And what do you want?”

“Just a word,” she says pleasantly.

“Well, you’ve had one,” Reginald says, sounding somewhat bored.

Cracking a smile, The Handler says, “Well, that’s not very polite.”

“Neither is breaking into my hotel room. I suggest you get out now, before things become any more unpleasant."

It’s a blatant threat, and Ben shifts closer to Klaus, protective, but The Handler doesn’t flinch. “Oh, I’m afraid I can’t take no for an answer.”

“Well, that’s unfortunate,” Reginald says, sliding the monocle off of his face and cleaning it mechanically, “because I have nothing to say to you.”

“What about to your wife?”

Reginald freezes, as does the dead woman who’s been following at his heel. “Excuse me?” he says.

A shark smile. “Your dead wife? The one following you around like a lost puppy?”

“Don’t be preposterous,” blusters Reginald. 

“What’s your name, sweetie?” The Handler directs at the ghost, who startles slightly at being addressed.

Her eyes are wide and serious - strong, too, despite the pale, sick look of her. “You can see me,” she says, and her voice is surprised, but not quite as astonished as the average spirit. “You’re not quite human, are you?”

“Oh, I like you,” The Handler decides. “What do you say? Have anything you want me to pass along?”

“No. We made our goodbyes, before he left to come here,” she says, certain.

Quirking her - Klaus’ - head, The Handler clarifies, “You mean he left you?”

The ghost denies, “You misunderstand; I have no bitterness for him. He had to leave. I was too sick to join him, too sick to survive much longer, and he had to leave.”

The Handler whirls on Reginald, who is standing, struck still in shock. “You left your  _ dying wife?  _ I knew you were a cold bastard, but I didn’t realise you were quite so heartless,” she says gleefully.

Klaus has seen Reginald Hargreeves on bad days and good days. He’s seen him angry, seen him smug, seen him grim and pleased and all the shades in between… but he’s never seen him look quite so shaken. “I- How did you-  _ Who are you?” _

She smiles. “Oh, I’m sure we can explain all of that at dinner tomorrow.”

Reginald straightens his robe with shaking hands. “Yes, well- yes. I’ll have my people contact you.”

“Well,” The Handler says, standing up and taking a final swig of coffee. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you, and I’m sure I will be seeing you  _ very soon.  _ Toodles!”

She sweeps out of the room, Ben trailing behind her, a silent, worried shadow.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings in the end notes

**1348**

Klaus wakes up under the same god forsaken silk sheets he always does. Even the feel of them against his skin fills him with a deep, bottomless sense of horror. He should be grateful, probably, that this time, his is the only body in the bed.

The Handler had gone back to the mansion - to her _cult -_ for the night. It isn’t surprising; she had spent the night before on Allison’s couch, and hadn’t had a chance to comb his hair or change clothes, or even to re-do the make up she had so carefully applied. Of course she had returned home. As much as she wants revenge, she also wants to look good whilst doing it.

Did his siblings notice he was gone this time?

Humming to herself, The Handler slips out of bed and over to the wardrobe. Her hands hover over some of her more daring clothes - dresses and skirts, mostly - and she trails her fingers down one of her favourite A-line dresses. (Klaus thinks, if he ever escaped this hell, he would never wear a skirt again.) In the end, she instead chooses flared pants and a bold shirt, which is less likely to get her queerbashed. He would feel bad for her, if she hadn’t quite literally _stolen his body._

By the window, Ben is sitting, worrying at his sleeves.

Eyeing him with some amusement, The Handler says, “Morning, Ben.”

“Morning,” Ben says, refusing to look at her. The Handler eyes him for a moment before humming and turning around, wandering into the bathroom, and then she goes about her morning ritual.

She sets a towel on a radiator, turns the taps on in the bath and sits perched on the edge whilst it fills, inspecting his nails. “I wonder if we have time for a pedicure,” she muses thoughtfully, brow furrowed. Klaus isn’t sure if she’s talking to him or herself. She moves onto checking the nails on his other hand, clicking her tongue in irritation before she moves off to find a nail file.

“It’d be unprofessional of me, I think, but I guess my nails will be getting dirty soon enough.” With a heavy sigh, she sets the nail file down and wanders back over to the bathtub; she dips his fingers into the water, testing the temperature, and then pours some bath mix into it, turns the taps off, and steps inside. The water is hot, almost too hot, suffocating, but she just sinks lower into it until it reaches his neck.

For a while, she just lays there in the water, completely relaxed and calm, before she moves on to cleaning herself. Once again, she shaves his body until his skin is smooth and hairless. She exfoliates, moisturises, scrubs all over his body, and takes her time with her extensive hair care routine. She gets out of the bath as the water begins to get cold, and his skin feels too clean, too naked; the fruity smell from the hair and skincare routine sickening. It’s terrible, he thinks, the sensation of his own hands touching his own body. If he ever gets out, gets back in control, he thinks he doesn’t want anyone to touch him ever again; including himself.

She wraps a towel around his body, wraps his hair up in another one, and then wanders over to the sink where she shaves his face, brushes and inspects his teeth, and puts a final layer of some silky cream over his face that makes his skin look soft and glowing before returning towards her bedroom.

Ben is still there, sitting on the windowsill with his knees drawn up to himself. His eyes bounce over to her briefly, but they don’t linger.

The Handler takes her time getting dressed, humming some old tune beneath her breath the whole time, and then she sits in front of her dresser and starts doing her makeup. She doesn’t seem to pick up on Ben’s silence - or, if she does, she simply just doesn’t care, more preoccupied with doing her makeup. She’s never really cared for idle chatter anyway; only initiating conversations if she was bored or if she wanted something or just wanted to gloat about her situation with Klaus; only holding up conversations to entertain Ben and keep him amused and none the wiser. She plays a game with Ben, too, using him to dig out everyone’s dirty secrets, to nail her characterisation of Klaus, to bounce off him. She uses him to get what she wants, but she doesn’t care about Ben, not one bit.

She doesn’t know Ben. Not really. She knows what he knows about Klaus and the rest of their family, but she never tried to get Ben to tell her about himself. She just doesn’t care about him - he’s been useful to her up until now, but he was never important, never the person she was looking for.

Klaus hopes that this carelessness comes back to bite her. She’s getting cocky, now. She’s close to Five and she’s so far managed to fool the rest of his siblings as well. Everything is going the way she wants it to, and he’s sure she’s got a whole plan figured out, and that in a few days, this whole thing will be over and she’ll make her attack. And maybe she’ll win.

But Ben has noticed that he’s acting strange. Ben has said so. Ben’s silence right now is tense and uncomfortable and suspicious, and if she doesn’t manage to - or even try - erase his doubts, then there’s a slowly growing chance that this will backfire on her. There’s still time, even if it’s running out, and Ben can do something - Ben _has to do something._

For now, though, he just stays quiet. Looking in the mirror, The Handler checks that she is satisfied with her makeup - it’s a bit more bold today, but only slightly. The mascara she put on today isn’t waterproof and Klaus notices it because she always wears waterproof mascara, and he doesn’t think this was just a slip-up.

Ben follows behind her as she leaves the bedroom and heads outside to sit in the sun, her cult buzzing around her, tending to the pool and the garden and, almost immediately, to her. Breakfast is brought out to her and she eats slowly, letting the sun dry his hair and warm his skin, content in her own thoughts.

It feels like she’s just trying to waste time.

One of her followers approaches quickly; she hands off the empty plate from breakfast without looking at them, and they fumble with it for a moment before saying, “Prophet, a letter came for you.”

“Oh?” She says, arching an eyebrow and tilting her head to the side. She holds his hand out and plucks it from their grasp, eying it curiously. With a wave of his hand, the follower is dismissed, and Ben comes a little closer as she opens the letter.

Klaus recognises the handwriting.

The Handler grins wide on his face and tucks the letter into her pocket. She turns to look at Ben, pushing down a smug smirk. “Well,” she says. “I suppose we better go tell the others that we have a supper with Daddy Dearest tonight.”

** 57 **

_Lips pursed, The Handler sweeps the cotton pad over Klaus’ face, removing the make-up she has taken to wearing. Without it, he looks younger. Softer. She narrows his eyes. “The more Ben tells me about your father,” she says, “the more I feel sorry for the man.”_

_If Klaus could laugh, he would. There’s a lot of people worth pitying, he thinks, but Reginald Hargreeves sure isn’t one of them._

_“I mean, really,” The Handler continues, unaware or indifferent to Klaus’ ire, “you children do seem to blame him for everything. All of your flaws, all of your failures - somehow, they’re your father’s fault. It’s ridiculous.”_

_Easy for her to say. She hadn’t been there whilst their flaws were systematically drilled into them._

_“Imagine how difficult it must have been for him! Raising not just one, but seven children? Trying to make them strong and powerful, whilst they insist on being whiny little babies?”_

_Petulantly, Klaus shoves at her, but it’s a pitiful, weak thing; he had exhausted himself yesterday, desperately trying to shake her off until he was sapped completely, and the world had gone blank and empty for a while._

_“Don’t be fussy,” she scolds him. “You know it’s true. Raising children all on your own is a terrible, unique hardship.”_

_Except he wasn’t on his own, was he? Good ol’ Reginald created his own helpers, and despite them being a creation of his, despite knowing nothing but the cold, loveless rooms of The Academy, both Grace and Pogo had shown more compassion than Reginald had ever granted the children._

_“Oh, of course you don’t believe me. You don’t know what it’s like, being a parent.”_

_Klaus’ mind, usually racing and boiling over with anger, goes still. She didn’t mean-?_

_“Mm, yes, I’m a mother,” The Handler says absently. Her eyes look far away, but they aren’t wistful. It’s more like the look of someone contemplating their next chess move. “My daughter is quite a deadly little thing, but she’s not quite as bright as I had hoped. Never really lived up to her potential.”_

_The phrase makes something deep within Klaus flinch._

_“Still, she might be useful, when I eventually go back to The Commission. I’m sure they’ll welcome me back with open arms, once they find out I took your pesky little family out of the equation. Maybe I’ll promote her to my personal security team, make her feel special,” she muses._

_Just like sending Luther to the moon, Klaus thinks. Classic manipulation tactics. Klaus doesn’t feel sorry for his father, but he thinks he can spare enough pity for whichever poor girl had The Handler for a mother._

_Smiling, she says, “And, of course, after thinking me dead? After moving on without me? Everyone will feel all so guilty… and guilty people are fantastically easy to bend to your will.”_

_Yeah, Klaus thinks, The Handler and Reginald Hargreeves must be playing from the same handbook._

**1348**

Klaus’ return is greeted by The Hargreeves with suspicion and hostility.

Ah. Home sweet home.

“-have you been? We’ve all been waiting-”

“-so irresponsible! What if something had happened? We didn’t even know where-”

“-with not the tiniest fucking idea of the complications in meddling in your own personal timeline, you flagrantly-”

“-unbelievable. You didn’t even tell us your plan, or-”

(Vanya is the only one who doesn’t attempt to scold The Handler. She just smiles awkwardly, clearly adrift in the familial drama, and waves.)

The Handler clears her throat pointedly, and eyes the siblings with a harsh stare worth of Reginald Hargreeves himself. They fall silent.

“I think what you meant to say,” she says sanctimonious, tossing the invite onto the coffee table, “is _you’re welcome._ ”

Five blinks over, and snatches up the heavy card. “Holy shit, you actually got us a meeting with him.”

“He did?” Luther questions, lumbering over to squint down at the elegant font. “He did!”

“Shit,” breathes Allison, sitting heavily at her sister's side.

“Thanks for all the confidence in me, guys,” The Handler says wryly. “You really know how to make a girl feel special.”

Diego sneaks up and grabs the invite, frowning down at it. Five lets him. “When is it?” he says, rather than reading it.

“In about forty minutes,” she says.

“Forty minutes?” Allison exclaims. “You didn’t think to give us more warning?”

The Handler laughs. “What, did you want to dress up smart and impress him?”

She recoils, just enough to be noticeable. “We don’t even have a plan,” says Allison, looking to the others for support. “Like, how much are we going to tell dad? Are we going to be honest about who we are?”

“Will it mess with the timeline, if we tell him we’re his kids?” Vanya questions.

Five runs a palm down his face, looking vaguely exhausted at the whole thing. “We’re already messing with the timeline, just by being here. It’s a little late to start worrying about that now. I guess whatever happens, happens.”

“So what,” says Luther, looking pale and pinched, “we’re just going to wing it?”

Ben shoots Klaus - The Handler - a hopeful look, and she allows him to bleed into their plane of existence. “I don’t think you have the time to plan it. That address is across town from here, we need to be leaving.”

Diego curses. “He’s right.”

“Anyone want to ride with me?” The Handler offers, brandishing her car keys.

(Vanya is the only one to raise her hand. Allison catches her wrist, and pulls it back down with a shake of her head.)

They all end up crammed into the elevator like sardines, Luther in the centre, holding himself tight as if to compensate for his size. The Handler has chosen to lurk at the back, where she has good sight lines on all the siblings, but it’s so tight that she ends up brushing against Allison on one side and Diego on the other. Klaus doesn’t know whether to feel grateful to be so close to his siblings, or angry at her for touching them, and in the end he doesn’t feel anything except the sick, cold dread that is his constant companion these days.

Klaus can feel excitement flit through The Handler, the vague impression of glee, and he can feel his heart pick up in anticipation of- whatever she’s planning.

Linking his arm through Allison, she says, “Y’know, I think you’re really brave.”

Allison turns, blinks at her. “What?”

“Well, most of us don’t have much to lose back in 2019,” says The Handler, smiling. “You’re the only one of us who is taking that risk. I can’t even imagine how scary that must be.”

Uncomprehending, Allison asks, “What do you mean? What risk?”

“Oh,” The Handler makes a show of faltering, eyes flicking around as if to check whether anyone else will jump in.

“Klaus,” Five intercepts, shouldering past Luther to get between them.

The Handler ignores him under the pretense of blundering forward. “I just meant, with Claire, you must be worried-?”

Rounding on Five, Allison demands, “What does he mean? What about Claire?”

Five shoots a glare at Klaus, and grits out, “It’s nothing.”

“No, don’t bullshit me,” she bites out. “Tell me.”

The elevator doors open with a ding.

It’s clear that Allison won’t let this go, and Five clenches his hands at his sides. “Look,” he says, voice low, “we’re interacting with our own history, and that comes with risks. If we change something in our pasts, it could change the present, and I can’t guarantee what will be lost.”

Allison goes still and furious. “That- No. That’s not acceptable.”

“I’m well aware of the risks,” Five says, fighting to keep his voice level, “but none of it will matter if we don’t find a way to make it to 2019.”

“Then we’ll find another way!” Allison says, hands gripping her elbows.

“There _is no other way,”_ contradicts Five, teeth bared, eyes wide and intense and promising violence.

She shakes her head. Under the fine line of scar tissue, her throat bobs. “No. No. I can’t- I can’t let you do this-”

“Allison-”

“No! Getting back to 2019 won’t mean anything if my daughter isn’t there waiting for me!”

Five takes a deep breath, and says, “Allison, there’s more at stake than just us.”

“I don’t _care,”_ cries Allison, “I don’t care about the rest of the world, she _is_ my entire world, and I won’t let you take her from me-”

“Allison,” Luther starts, reaching a hand toward her, but she shakes him off, gaze unerring from where she’s staring Five out. The air has gone thick and tense, and the siblings stand frozen, waiting for disaster in the cramped box of an elevator. The doors attempt to close, but Vanya keeps her foot wedged between the doors, looking as if she’s considering making an escape.

Five says, “Allison,” and it’s less a warning, more of a plea - _don’t do this,_ his eyes say, _don’t make me do this._

She sucks in a breath, expression stony, and says, “I heard a ru-”

In a blink, Five jumps through space, landing behind Allison’s shoulders and clamping a hand over her mouth. She twists, ready to flip him over her-

A flash of blue-

And the pair are gone.

“Fuck,” utters Vanya.

Then, another flash, and Five in standing in the empty hallway, adjusting his collar. “Are we ready to go?”

“Where’s Allison?” questions Luther. “What did you do?”

Rolling his eyes, he says, “I dumped her back at Elliott’s. We have about thirty-five minutes before she makes her way back here, so let’s make it count, huh?”

With an uncertain exchange of glances, the remaining Hargreeves siblings - including one ghost, and one imposter - shuffle out of the elevator.

Time for dinner with dad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning for mentions of homophobic hate crimes and references to non-con, as well as child abuse and victim blaming re child abuse


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings in the end notes.

**1348**

Everyone is eager to finally get out of the elevator, tumbling over one another to step out into the bar. It’s empty, so far; not even a single employee around. A large table in the centre of the room is set, though, and The Handler eyes the fruit platter in the middle of it before turning her gaze to the room.

Reginald isn’t here yet. It gives everyone a moment to exhale, although the tension from what just happened lingers in the air, thick and suffocating. Klaus wonders if Allison will make her way back here, and he’s almost afraid to see her again. How much has The Handler put her through in a handful of days? First her husband, and now her daughter? Klaus feels horrible for her. 

The Handler, of course, is just happy to cause some chaos and to see her upset.

She hides all of that glee quickly, though, under a nervous and fidgety facade. She fiddles with the sleeves of her shirt, she looks around rapidly, checks over her shoulder, and gets worse the longer they stay and once they slowly settle around the main table. The Handler makes Luther move a seat so that Ben can sit next to her, but Ben doesn’t say anything.

“Klaus,” says Diego, sitting at the opposite side of the table from them, frowning. “Are you okay?”

The Handler startles, looking over at him with wide eyes, and everyone else looks right back at them. “I just, uh - it’s nothing, I’m fine.”

“You don’t look okay,” Vanya says, her voice gentle. 

Sighing, The Handler toys with her lip and looks around, and after confirming she has the attention of the entire table, she says, “it’s just… seeing Dad again. It doesn’t feel real, and I’ve spent so long trying to get away from him, and-”

“We won’t let him do anything,” says Five, his eyes dark and voice low. The Handler offers a shaky smile.

“I know,” she says, not sounding very convincing. Diego opens his mouth to say more, but the elevator dings and the doors slide open, and everyone freezes as Reginald steps out.

A thrill of excitement runs through The Handler, but she’s careful to avoid Reginald’s eyes; she stiffens, looks away quickly, keeps fiddling nervously with her sleeves. As it is, Klaus barely gets a glimpse of the same sad ghost trailing in after him. She's watching The Handler, her gaze heavy and careful, but the handler doesn't care; she's used the ghost for her own gain, and is now happy to ignore her. 

Reginald seems surprised to see everyone here, quickly looking over to The Handler, an irritated expression on his face, and then he strides forwards. He heads right to the seat that Ben sits in, but incorporeal, he can’t see him.

Ben jumps out of the seat at the last second, and Reginald settles next to Klaus, setting a book on the table with a thud and turning right to Klaus. He’s had enough time to get over the shock of how The Handler approached him yesterday, and now he just seems angry. It’s not something that Klaus likes to see, but The Handler does. She makes a show of tensing his shoulders, of holding his hands together on the desk as if to hide any trembling. Reginald begins speaking.

“What is the meaning of this ridiculous affair, then, and who are you people?” he demands, glaring cooly at them all, gaze lingering on Klaus. “And  _ you  _ \- you need to explain yourself.”

Over Reginald’s shoulder, Luther bristles and glares openly at their father. The Handler offers a half-hearted, unsteady smile and looks away. Five meets her gaze with curiosity - obviously, he’s dying to know how she managed to get Reginald to agree to meet them, but he doesn’t voice his questions now. Instead, he turns his attention to their father.

“We’re your children,” states Five, leaning forwards on his chair. “We’re from the future. In 1989 you adopted seven children and trained us to fight against the end of the world. Called us the Umbrella Academy.”

Reginald clasps his hands together, scrutinising each one of the siblings in turn, finally landing on Klaus. The Handler all but cowers under his gaze. It’s funny, really, because even at his most terrified, Klaus had never behaved like that. It’s not that his father hadn’t scared him. From the age of eight, it seemed like Reginald’s eyes were a constant pressure on the back of his neck, and every action was weighted with terror, because he never knew what would make his father decide to drag him back to that crypt. Klaus learned to be afraid, but he never quite learned how to keep himself from causing trouble. He knew things would be easier, if he behaved more like Luther, or Allison, or even Ben. Even now, isn’t quite able to explain why he acted out like he did, why he would risk his father’s wrath, why he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. He didn’t  _ want  _ his father’s attention, and yet, somehow he could breathe easier when he was in trouble. At least then, Klaus didn’t have to wonder when he might next slip up, didn’t have to live in anticipation of his next mistake. So, no, Klaus had never cowered away at the dinner table, and he never would. The Handler might know his past, know his fears, but it seems she still doesn’t really know him.

“That,” declares Reginald, “is preposterous.”

“It’s true-” Luther begins, but Reginald speaks over him like he hadn’t heard.

“My reconnaissance tells me that you’re not CIA, not KGB, and certainly not MI5. I don’t know what  _ game  _ you are playing here, but-”

“No games,” Five states, leaning forward in his seat, a predatory stance. “We’re your children.”

Chin tilting up, Regionals says, “Don’t be foolish. What would possess me to adopt six ill mannered charlatans such as yourselves?”

“We all have special abilities,” explains Five.

“Special? In what sense?”

Grimly, Five says, “In the  _ superpower  _ sense.”

Reginald’s cold eyes land on Klaus. “And I suppose that’s how you would explain the nonsense you purported to know?”

“It’s not nonsense,” The Handler contradicts weakly. 

“If you expect me to believe your little trick based on words alone-”

She says, “I can prove it!”

The air goes thick with anticipation, and Reginald’s hungry half smile sickens Klaus to his core. He can see, in his periphery, some of his siblings shifting closer to him, almost protective. Diego has an arm half extended, as if ready to leap to his defence, but maybe they all want to see Ben again, because none of them actually stop The Handler from clenching Klaus’ hands into fists and, with more theatrics than usual, pull Ben into the world of the living.

There’s a short intake of breath from Reginald, but apart from that, he barely reacts to the appearance of the ghost. 

Ben, arms crossed in front of his chest, says, “Hi, dad.”

“Another supposed child of mine?” Reginald queries, dispassionate.

“Yep,” says Ben. “I’m the dead one.”

“Hm,” says Reginald. Then he flips open his notebook, and begins to scribble something down. The reaction from the siblings is practically pavlovian; they all perk up simultaneously, craning their necks as if to glimpse at what he is writing.

The Handler shrinks in her seat. “What- What are you writing?”

“And is that the extent of your power, boy?” Reginald demands. “To manifest one single soul?”

“Um, I mean,” The Handler fumbles for words, “I guess? I’ve never tried to manifest more than just Ben-”

“You’ve never attempted to manifest multiple spirits? Well, that just confirms it. Any child of mine would not be so lazy when exploring their own powers.”

The tension in the room skyrockets. Luther stands, a hulking figure looming over the table, and Diego clenches a dinner knife in his fist, but Reginald’s eyes do not waver.

Defensive, shaky, The Handler says, “I’ve progressed more in the last three years than I had for all the years you raised me.”

“Oh, and I am supposed to be impressed? You believe that this paltry parlour trick will earn my respect? You are deluded.”

“Hey,” barks Luther. The air seems to stir, and Klaus isn’t sure if it’s his own panic, or the subtle shifting of Vanya’s powers.

“The sad reality is that you are nothing but a fragile, weak child who is tragically unaware of his own insignificance. You believe that, because you are able to conjure one ghost, you have grown past the pathetic, useless creature you must have been under my tutourage. This is false.”

Five leans forward and slams her palms down onto the table. “That’s enough.”

“I can already see that any attempts to turn you into an asset against the dark forces of this world were in vain. Even from the brief, unpleasant time I have spent observing you, it has become increasingly clear-”

“Stop,” The Handler croaks, trembling.

Luther shouts, “Stop it!”

“-that you are destined to be my  _ greatest disappointment.” _

A raw sound rips out of his throat, and The Handler falls back out of the chair, scrambling back with hands clamped over his ears. “No, no,” she chants brokenly, “no, please, no.” Klaus feels his chest spasm as she gasps for breath, tears burning his eyes, which remain unfocused and staring, like caught in the throes of a violent flashback, and she feels none of it, not a single ounce of the terror she is so fantastically portraying, and for a moment he can almost pretend he’s the one in control. For once, his emotions, his horror and his fear, are being expressed in all it’s terrible glory, as his body sobs and pleads on the hardwood floor.

Reginald laughs coldly. “Pathetic.”

“I suggest,” Five advises, voice dripping with danger, “that you  _ stop talking.” _

“Why? To spare his feelings?”

“Shut up, or I w-will shut you up _ ,” _ Diego hisses.

“Am I supposed to be intimidated by your little band of fools? I have merely spoken the truth; it is not my fault if he is too fragile to hear it.” 

Diego yells,  _ “Shut up, shut the fuck up-” _

Reginald turns to Klaus, shaking is head in derision, and sneers, “He is ruled by his fear.”

“Dad,” The Handler begs, Klaus’ voice shattered and cracking, “Dad, please-”

“If he cannot control his own emotions-”

Luther swipes the fruit platter from the table, and it shatters against the wall. “Stop it!”

“-then he is doomed to remain utterly  _ useless-” _

_ “-please, Dad, let me out, let me out-” _

And then the dull sound of a knife plunging into flesh.

The room holds it’s breath. Silence.

And then Reginald Hargreeves sucks in a wet, gurgling breath, as his hand comes up to touch the dinner knife which is embedded deep in his jugular. Uncomprehending, shaking fingers curl around the steel - and, inadvisably, pull the blade from the wound, releasing a tide of blood that spills from his throat and soaks the starch white collar of his suit. His wide, pale eyes stare down at the red stained blade, the instrument of his own murder, half a century too early.

The spectre of his dead wife takes a strangled gasp, hand grasping and passing through him helplessly.

Then, unceremoniously, their father drops to the floor.

Dead.

“Oh,” Five enunciates,  _ “fuck.” _

“What- Diego, what did you do?” Luther utters, stock still, unable to tear his eyes away from the still bleeding corpse.

“I-I-I-”

“Oh my god,” The Handler breathes. She sounds elated, but it probably passes for shock.

The dead wife croons a broken chant of  _ no no no no no- _

Five curls his hands through his hair, eyes flashing white like a wild thing. "You killed him. Holy fuck, you killed dad.”

Diego, face bloodless, shakes his head in numb denial. “I didn’t m-m-”

“He's dead,” says Luther, stumbling closer until the toes of his shoes are almost in the pool of blood. He stares at their father’s body, as if waiting for it to leap back up. “He’s actually dead.”

“I asked one thing of you,” Five rages, “one thing:  _ don’t fuck up the timeline!  _ Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“He was hurting Klaus!” argues Diego.

The Handler says, “Oh, so it’s my fault?”

“No! Just-”

“He was our only chance at getting back to our time!” rants Five, pacing back and forth. “Without him, we’re stranded here!”

Diego clenches his hands into tight fists. “Well, it’s not like anyone else was doing anything about it! What was I supposed to do, just keep letting him hurt Klaus, after everything-”

“Christ, Diego, I think there’s some steps we can take before  _ patricide.” _

“I didn’t do it on  _ purpose!” _

Five snorts. “Right. Of course. You weren’t aiming for his throat, you just  _ missed _ .”

Flinging his hands up, Diego says, “Okay, yes, but it’s not like I planned this!”

“Didn’t you?” Luther challenges. “When Five first said about talking to dad, you said-”

“Oh, so we’re back to accusing each other of cold blooded murder. Classic.”

“I think there’s a  _ little more evidence  _ this time,” Luther says, gesturing down at the bloody corpse.

Ben interjects, “Hey, guys?”

The brothers instinctively turn at the sound of Ben’s voice. 

Grimly, Ben says, “Vanya.”

Finally, they all notice the one voice that has been eerily absent this whole time. 

Vanya, seemingly unaware of her brother’s arguing, is frozen in a tableau of horror. She’s staring at their father with a distant, absent anguish. Her eyes are icy pale.

“Shit,” Diego says succinctly.

Five takes a cautious step closer to their sister. “Vanya?”

Revulsion ripples over her face, forehead crinkling, blinking fast. “I- Oh, god,” she says faintly. “I killed her.”

“What?” says Five.

“I killed Allison. Oh, oh god, no, I killed Allison, I killed-” Her breath hitches, and she wavers where she stands. Something in the air begins to vibrate with some soft of indiscernable energy. A herald of something worse to come.

“No, you didn’t,” Five says slowly. “Allison is fine.”

“I- her throat, I cut-” Vanya chokes out, knees folding underneath her.

Five crouches by her side, hesitant to touch her. “She’s okay. It was a long time ago.”

Vanya begins to rock in place, and she still hasn’t looked away from their father’s body. “I didn’t mean to,” she says, voice infinitesimal. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know,” says Five. “Hey, don’t look at him, okay?” He pulls her by the shoulder, turning her away from the sight of a torn throat, but she shoves him off - not with her hands, but with the air itself.

“Don’t touch me,” she says, half defiant, half terrified. “Please, don’t- don’t.”

Five’s jaw twitches as he looks away. He nods, and stands, taking a step back; none of them are remotely qualified to deal with the powerful disaster that is Vanya. 

_ Not fragile like a flower,  _ Klaus thinks to himself, as his brothers watch with expressions ranging from regret to mistrust,  _ but fragile like a bomb. _

“I remember,” Vanya says to herself.

It’s at that moment that Allison bursts into the room. She skids to a stop, panting like she ran here, and takes in the scene: Klaus, tearful in the corner; Vanya, kneeling on the ground with eyes white as snow; the fruit platter, shattered against the wall; their father’s lifeless body, sprawled out in a pool of his own blood. “What the  _ fuck,”  _ she says emphatically.

Voice hollow, Vanya says, “You lied.”

“What?” asks Luther.

“When I asked who you were,” she says, “you told me you were my family. You lied.”

Helplessly, Allison says, “Vanya…”

Closing her eyes so that the unnatural white does not show, Vanya says, “I remember now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: violence, blood and character death.


	16. Chapter 16

**1348**

“So,” says Luther, voice cracked and uncertain, “what do we do now?” He’s still staring at their father’s corpse, looking like a lost child, despite his size. 

“Oh, so now you care about the plan?” snipes Five. He runs both hands through his hair, leaving it sticking up, leaving him looking more manic than before.

Allison steps further into the room, avoiding the puddle of blood. “God. What happened? What  _ will  _ happen? Does this mean we were never adopted now?” There’s raw fear in her eyes, and Klaus knows that this was her worst nightmare, that they might change the future too much, might change their own paths, leaving Claire as collateral damage. If even the smallest butterfly can cause exponential damage, then surely patricide is the equivalent of tossing a grenade into the timestream. 

The Handler watches this unfold, and Klaus can’t hear her thoughts, but he can sense how fast her mind is ticking, considering the possible outcomes, like a master chess player. “I’m sorry,” she says mournfully. 

Pointedly, Five says, “It’s not your fault.”

“Yes, I get it, it’s my fault,” says Diego, exasperated. “Now can we figure out what to do with the body?”

“No,” says Luther, “we have to figure out how to go back and stop this from happening. Right? Five?”

Five shakes his head. “We’ve already gone back on this part of our own history. Interfering in your own personal timeline is bad enough, but all seven of us interfering with our past selves? It’s too risky. The timeline can only sustain so many paradoxes,” Five explains. “Besides, how exactly are we going to go back? Dad was our only chance at figuring out how to time travel accurately.”

“So we just, what, bury dad? Stay in the sixties?” Allison questions, eyes wide and panicked.

“No! I just- I need time, I need to think about this,” says Five, hands balled into tight fists.

Diego snarks, “You’ll have plenty of time to think when we’re all thrown in prison for homicide.”

“Oh, and you have plenty of experience with being thrown in institutions, don’t you?” Five says with false sweetness.

“Would you all  _ shut up,”  _ says Vanya. The room falls silent. She stands, looking exhausted and gutted and angry, her eyes still milky white, but she doesn’t seem to have any murderous intent - not that any of them are willing to provoke her. “We need a plan, and you’re all too busy arguing like we’re still twelve!”

“She’s right,” Ben says, arms folded. “This isn’t the time.”

“Fine,” says Five. “You guys, go back to Elliott’s. I’ll deal with the body.” Luther begins to protest, but Five cuts him off. “I’m the only one with experience in clean assassinations, and you guys being here will only contaminate the scene further.”

“Okay,” says Diego, striding over to the body and, without hesitating, plucking his knife out of the blood. He wipes it on Reginald’s jacket, but the blood is sticky, half congealed.

The rest of the siblings shuffle half heartedly towards the exit, all unable to tear their eyes away from the gory scene that they are leaving behind. Five throws out, “And no detours. Everyone sticks together from now on.”

“Why?” questions Vanya.

“If we’ve been flying under the radar up until now,” Five says, “this is the equivalent of shooting a flare gun. The Commission is going to notice this pretty quickly, and it won’t take them long to track us down.”

“The guys that tortured Klaus?” Allison asks, concerned.

Five nods, offhanded. “This time, they’re probably not going to be interested in keeping us alive, so no one splits up.”

“Except you?”

“Except me,” he says with an unkind smile. “Now go. I’ll be back once I’ve cleaned this up.”

With no further arguments, the siblings pack back into the elevator, even more demoralised that they had been on the ride up.

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


“Where are you going?”

The Handler whirls around, an innocent expression on her face, despite the spike of irritation she feels. “Me?”

“Yes, you,” says Diego, unimpressed; he had discovered her sneaking out into the back alley.

“I just thought I might go home to get some sleep, y’know, change my clothes,” she says.

Diego rolls his eyes. “You heard what Five said. No one wanders off. You can sleep here with the rest of us.”

“Fine,” she allows, pouting, before following Diego back inside, her heart cold with rage, her eyes sweeping over the vulnerable plane of his back as he walks, like she’s dreaming of planting a knife in it. It makes Klaus feel ill. 

Ben watches silently. It’s unusual enough that Klaus has picked up on it, but it seems The Handler has not - that, or she just doesn’t care. The weight of his gaze is heavy, and Klaus wishes he knew what his brother was thinking, whether he is suspicious, or just confused. He tries not to think about it, afraid that she will sense his hope and longing. 

Without her usual skincare products, The Handler simply washes her make up away with water, and combs through his hair with her fingers. She sighs, as if it’s some great hardship, but it’s a familiar feeling for Klaus. Living on the streets, he had gotten used to quick washes in public bathrooms, to wearing the same clothes until he could steal more, but The Handler never knew that struggle.

The siblings are sleeping on the couches or on the floor, but The Handler doesn’t join them. Instead, she slinks up to Elliott’s bedroom, and slides the door open without knocking. Elliott startles upright, sheets pooling, eyes stark white in the dark. “What do you want?” he asks, voice shaking.

“Your bed,” she intones.

“What- I- hold on,” stammers Elliott, twitching backward, and The Handler laughs.

“ _ Just _ the bed _ ,”  _ she says. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Elliott lets out a breath. “Oh, okay,” he says, flinging himself out from under the sheets. He looks small in his pyjamas. Frail.

With a sly smile, The Handler says, disingenuous, “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Elliott lies, fleeing the bedroom. She watches him leave with predatory eyes, and, when he shuts the door behind him, she shucks the flared pants, and drops down into the stolen bed. With an ease that Klaus has never possessed, she falls asleep within seconds.

  
  


**1349**

As always, Klaus wakes when The Handler does. He watches as The Handler stretches out over the bed, as she flicks the covers away from his body and sits up. There’s a slight ache in his hips that makes The Handler frown and press his fingers into the mattress. The one back in the mansion is high quality - the highest quality she (her followers) could get. She wouldn’t accept anything less, of course, and Elliott’s isn’t up to her standards.

He can feel her irritation grow as she has to wait for Diego to get out of the bathroom, and even more when she realises that she doesn’t have any of her skin or hair-care items. There isn’t even a bathtub here for her to soak in, and the shower squeaks and takes a moment to warm up, and the water pressure is rough. She makes use of what she can in the bathroom, and at the very least there is a razor in there that she uses to shave his face again. Finally, she slips out of the bathroom for the next person to go in, and after hovering in the living room for a moment, she realises no one is going to make breakfast for her like they would if she were with her cult. She does it herself, and though she doesn’t outwardly show her irritation, Klaus can feel it simmering away inside his own stomach.

One by one everyone slips into the little sitting area, all in varying states of wakefulness and moods. Although The Handler seems inclined to ignore everyone, she forces herself to keep up her act and sits next to Allison, squeezing her hand. In return, his sister offers a muted smile. She looks tired.

There’s the familiar sound of Five’s powers, and then he marches in from the kitchen, a coffee in hand, eyes roaming over all of them. He doesn’t talk until they’re all sitting together and The Handler’s gaze hardly leaves him, even when he paces around.

“So,” says Diego, reclining in the armchair he’s sitting on and gazing into his own coffee. “Did you deal with the body?”

“Yes, I dealt with the body,” says Five, not bothering to look at him. “People will probably realise he’s missing in a day or two.”

“What even happened last night?” Allison asks, but it’s quiet. The Handler squeezes her hand again, offers an exaggerated grimace before looking away. 

“But they can’t track it back to us, right?” asks Vanya.

“No,” says Five. “There’s not a trace. The only people that will connect it to us, however, is The Commission. They’ve probably already figured it out.”

“What do we do?” Luther asks. Five’s face twists, bitterly amused for a moment before falling into his usual facade once more.

“We get out of here.”

“I thought Dad was our last option?”

“Yeah, well, I’ve thought of another. You’re welcome.”

Curious, The Handler leans forwards a little, sharp gaze watching Five over the rim of her coffee mug. “How?” She asks. Five meets her gaze for a moment before bouncing away again. He really doesn’t suspect anything, Klaus thinks morosely. 

“Me.”

A beat passes before Diego waves his hand in the air. “Care to actually tell us the plan, genius?”

Five shoots a glare at him, dark enough that Diego actually shuts up, before continuing. “When I worked in The Commission, I had a job here.” His eyes flick to the wall, lips twisting. “In a few days. I’ll be arriving soon. I’ll have a briefcase with me - one assigned from The Commission. I can go and take it from me, and we’ll use that to get back to 2019 without losing anyone or going to the wrong time.”

Another beat of silence passes. Everyone exchanges a look, confused, except for The Handler. Klaus can feel something, but he can’t quite place it - amusement, maybe, along with intrigue. She knows what he’s talking about, evidently.

By the resounding silence and confusion among everyone else, Five sighs dramatically.

“There is another version of me already in this timeline. This is where - and when - I was before I travelled back to 2019, to Dad’s funeral.”

“There’s two of you,” The Handler says, quirking an eyebrow. Five waves a hand in her direction.

“Exactly. The me original to this timeline, who hasn’t travelled to 2019 yet. I know where he - me - will be. I just need to go and get the briefcase from me.” He pauses, lips parting to say something before deciding better of it, but Diego also picks up on it.

“And what’s the part you’re not telling us?”

Five presses his lips together, eyes narrowing, before he sighs and relents. “It’s… reckless, to interact with myself. Being close to myself will affect the both of us with a phenomena known as  _ paradox psychosis.  _ I’ll need someone to come with me, to make sure I don’t… go off track.”

Grimacing, although she only feels amusement at this rate, The Handler says, “Why don’t one of us just go to you instead?”

“That won’t work,” says Five, waving her off. “I know me. I won’t stay around to talk to any of you, let alone give you the briefcase - and even if I did, I’d just end up coming back to see myself anyway. At least if I go, I know how to talk to me. I know how to get that briefcase. I just need… a little assistance.”

Everyone shares awkward glances again. Unease rumbles through Klaus as he expects The Handler to jump on the opportunity - to get Five alone with her. She could even use this chance to get rid of the other version of Five, too - surely she’d want to eradicate any traces of him? 

As it is, she seems to have other plans, because she simply leans back on the couch. With a sigh, Luther sticks a hand up. “I’ll go with you.” 

Five eyes him, before nodding. “We can intercept past me tomorrow, when I’m in a public place. I’ll be less likely to shoot on sight. For now, we should go over the plan. The rest of you,” he says, voice turning stern and suddenly fitting for the age he actually is, “ _ stay here.  _ Do not move, do not think about moving, do not fuck anything else up.” He adds a pointed look in Diego’s direction but, with that, he jerks his head at Luther, and the two of them march into the kitchen to discuss their plan in private. 

“Well,” drawls The Handler, watching them go. 

“I’d do it again,” Diego mutters, folding his arms over his chest and frowning at the wall. 

“Hmm?”

“Kill Dad. Doesn’t matter if Five says I fucked things up.”

“Aww,” coos The Handler. “Thanks, bro.”

“Can someone finally tell me what actually happened yesterday?” Allison asks, looking desperately between them all.

“What we all should have expected would have happened,” says Diego. “Dad was being a dick. He was hurting Klaus, and he wouldn’t stop. He went too far.”

The Handler offers a sheepish expression to his sister, melting back into the couch. 

“And there was - nothing else you could do?” Allison asks, a frantic edge to her tone. 

Diego sighs. “I’m sorry, Allison. But you know Five won’t let anything happen to your daughter.”

Allison flinches, just a little, and looks away, worrying her lip between her teeth. With another sigh, Diego stands up and starts heading to the stairs.

“Where are you going?” Vanya asks, sitting up.

“I’ll be back.”

“Five told us not to leave-”

“I’ll be fine,” Diego dismisses. “Unless you want to be eating Elliott’s pudding all day, I’m gonna go get some real food. I’ll be back in ten.”

There’s not a chance for another word before Diego slips out the front door, letting it swing shut behind him. The Handler blinks, eyebrows raised.

“Well, it’s a girl’s day, I suppose,” she says, looking between Vanya and Allison. Ben isn’t around - or, if he is, he isn’t showing himself and hasn’t all morning. 

“I - I should find Ray,” Allison murmurs, looking at him with sad eyes. “I can’t - I can’t let everything be ruined. I need to find him.”

“Five said we shouldn’t leave, Al,” says The Handler. “The Commission might come for us.”

“I’ll be quick,” she says. “I need to try. I can’t - I have to.”

And Klaus gets it. At least sort of. He can’t imagine how she feels with the very real threat of losing her daughter looming over her. But if The Handler had never interfered, what would he have done with his time in the sixties. Would he not have gone to Dave? Would he have not tried to do  _ something,  _ at the very least, to save him?

He wishes he could support Allison - wishes he could have done something to stop The Handler from messing up what she’d built here in the sixties - but all he can do is watch as The Handler lets her leave by herself. At the very least, she promised to come back soon, and Klaus knows that she can handle herself.

“Everyone cleared out fast,” The Handler comments, turning to look at Vanya, who offers a soft snort. 

“Family, huh?”

The Handler grins, raising her coffee mug as if in a toast. “Family.” She goes back to nursing her drink afterwards, but her eyes remain on Vanya, intense and sharp and picking up things Klaus probably isn’t even seeing. “What’s up?” She asks, curious and sly. Vanya startles at the question as if she didn’t expect it.

“I just… I was thinking about going back to 2019.”

“Having doubts?” The Handler pries, eyebrows raised. Vanya shakes her head, but the movement is small, uncertain.

“I - I don’t know. I just… I have a life here. And - I mean, I don’t remember…  _ everything  _ yet, but I know it’s more than what I had there.”

Klaus wonders what he might have done here. If he would have made a life for himself here too, just like Vanya, and Allison, and Luther. 

Probably not. 

“Well, it’s not me you’d have to convince to let you stay here, Van,” says The Handler. She turns to face her, crosses one leg over the other and idly taps his fingers along the mug in his hands. Vanya sighs, scrubbing a hand down her face. 

“I know,” she murmurs, frowning. For several moments she simply stares at nothing in particular, lost in her own thoughts, before she suddenly sits a little straighter and looks over at them with wide eyes. “But what if - what if I didn’t convince Five to let me stay? What if I could convince him to let me bring Sissy and Harlan with me?” 

The Handler blinks, and the shock that must show on Klaus’ face is genuine, even if it is quickly reeled back in and under her control. “Oh,” she says. She presses his lips together in thought, eyes flitting away. “That would be good, wouldn’t it? But… I mean, maybe. You could try.”

Vanya’s enthusiasm deflates quickly and she frowns. “No, no, what were you going to say?”

The Handler sighs heavily; leans forwards to put her mug on the coffee table before turning her full attention to Vanya. “I just - I don’t want to sound rude, Van, really, but… it’s just, when I was kidnapped, those people worked for The Commission, y’know? And when they got bored, they just chatted about work. About their - their hits, their targets. They’re constantly jumping through time to kill people who mess with the timeline, to get rid of people that aren’t when they’re supposed to be - just like they’re doing with us.”

“What do you mean?” Vanya asks. Her voice is quiet as she clings to her hope from moments ago, and it hurts Klaus to see The Handler so easily break her down. She’s already done this to Allison, but of course messing with just one person’s life isn’t enough for her. She wants to ruin whatever good Vanya has come upon here, too. 

She reaches out, placing a hand on top of one of hers. “Would it really be safe to bring them to 2019?” She asks, voice sickeningly gentle. “The Commission - they’ll just come after them, and they’ll keep coming until they’re dead. Sure, you might be able to protect them for a while - but not forever. You’d be on the run every second of every day; of every night. All it would take is a second of not looking, of not being by their side. I just - I don’t want you to make the wrong choice and get hurt.”

Vanya’s eyes glisten wetly in the dim light. She swallows, but her voice still shakes slightly when she talks again. “I - but I could protect them. They wouldn’t have to deal with Carl, or - or the bullshit in the sixties. We could be together.”

The Handler smiles as if she understands, as if she empathizes with her, and she squeezes her hand again. “I know, I know. I - I thought like that too, with Dave. I thought that maybe - maybe I could bring him to the future, maybe I could save him. But The Commission would come, because they always do, and they would still kill him in the end. It hurts, but you’re keeping them safe by letting them go.”

Klaus can hear the way Vanya’s breathing hitches in her throat, can see the effort it takes to hold back her tears. “I love her,” she whispers. “I love Sissy. I love Harlan.”

“I know,” says The Handler. She moves one of his hands up to cup her cheek, using his thumb to swipe away the lone tear that finally falls from her eye. “But you have to let them go, Van,  _ because  _ you love them.”

When she pulls his sister into a hug, there’s nothing nice about it. The Handler feels cold; icy and frozen and detached. She doesn’t care about Vanya and each second longer the hug lasts, the more impatient and annoyed she gets. She doesn’t care that she’s tearing down the life his sister has made for her, terrified her with the idea of the death of people she loves, and of it being because of her. She doesn’t care, and Klaus hates her. He hates her, and he wants nothing more than to make her let go of his sister, to get her away from his family, but he can’t. He can’t do anything.

“I need to say goodbye,” Vanya sniffles, scrubbing at her cheeks. The Handler squeezes her shoulder.

“Go,” she says. “Be quick, be safe. You’re doing the right thing, Van.”

She nods to herself, but nonetheless she still sits there for several minutes more, conflict written all over her face. Finally, she musters up the courage to get up, and The Handler watches her fumble to pull her coat on before heading outside. The door swings shut and leaves them utterly alone, and The Handler smiles. Pride flutters in his chest and she basks in it for a moment before standing up.

She isn’t done.

“Ben?” She calls, looking around the place with a frown. “Ben? Are you here?”

There’s no response. He doesn’t call out from another room or appear suddenly by her side. It seems that they are really all alone.

The Handler’s façade slips. Her head lifts a little higher, she drops all of Klaus’ mannerisms and picks up her own again. She swipes a hand over the damp patch on her shirt and grimaces in disgust.

“Both of your sisters are so sentimental, it’s disgusting, quite frankly,” she says aloud. Klaus shoves at her, anger still hot and bubbling within himself. Nonetheless, all he garners is her rolling his eyes and shoving him back, which is more effective than anything he can do. 

“At least I finally get some time to myself,” she says, sighing. “Hopefully Five doesn’t stay holed up with your brother for too long, though.” A pause. “Maybe just long enough for me to get a real bath… it really is a shame that Elias lives like this, yet he’s been too helpful to deal with so far. If only it could have been someone with a little more… taste.” She flicks an oddly-shaped lamp on a desk she walks by. Klaus fumbles for a moment to think of who Elias is before realising she means Elliott, and he wishes he could roll his own eyes. Of course she can’t even be bothered to remember his name.

After strolling around the place for a moment, as if to stretch his legs out and shake her façade off, she throws a last glance around the place and heads towards the phone on the wall. She’s probably going to phone the mansion, Klaus thinks. Have Keechie or someone come get her so she can take a bath and do her makeup and bask in her own narcissism. 

She presses in an odd number, though. He doesn’t recognise it, nor is it a usual number in terms of length. It rings four times before someone finally picks up on the other end. There is silence on the other end, but it’s clear someone is listening.

“ _ Hallå _ ,” says The Handler, lips tugging into a small smile. “ _ Swedes _ .”


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if i've formatted this right, you should be able to hover above the swedish for a translation (or press on it on mobile). hopefully. enjoy!

**1349**

Klaus doesn’t know what she’s saying, and it makes him more nervous than he’d care to admit.

He can’t understand what she’s saying, but coupled with the curls of excitement fluttering in his chest that don't belong to him and ugly smirk she wears on his lips, he knows that whatever she is saying isn’t good. She’s putting her plan into motion now; gotten fed up with waiting around and meddling with his siblings. Not knowing what her plan really is makes him nervous, but it’s not as if knowing would change anything. He still can’t do anything, can’t fight her, can’t stop her. She’s going to go ahead with her plan, and he can’t do anything, and no one’s even noticed yet. They still haven’t noticed.

He had hoped they’d catch on eventually, at least a little, enough to give them even just a head’s-up that something was wrong so they would be alert, but no one’s noticed anything. Really, after opening up earlier, everyone is eager to trust him - her - and less willing to confront or hurt him - her. She has the upper hand completely. 

(He wonders what would really happen if he just let go. There’s no point to sticking around now, is there? Not unless he wants to watch his own hands murder his family. He’s stuck around, clinging onto hope for so long now. There’s nothing he can do. Nothing anyone else can do, either. But maybe if he let go, it would hurt less.)

She says a cheerful goodbye to the monotone voice on the other end of the line before hanging up, and then she claps his hands together, grinning, and she spins around, and-

There’s Ben. 

The Handler startles, very slightly, freezing on the spot. He’s a few feet away, standing with his arms folded over his chest and an unreadable expression on his face. He almost looks intimidating like that, as if he’s about to burst out with one of many of his lectures that Klaus has heard a hundred times before. At the same time, it’s hard to think of Ben as _intimidating_ when he’s his brother. Despite aging in death, he still looks younger than he should be by now, and Klaus feels something that he can’t quite place. He wonders if it’s what his siblings feel when they see him now, too.

“Oh,” says The Handler, smile slipping from his face. “Ben. Where’ve you been? I was trying to find you earlier, you know. Could have used your help; everyone’s gone and run off.”

Ben purses his lips; narrows his eyes a little. “Why’d they leave?” He asks. There’s an edge to his voice that reminds Klaus of the plenty of times when Ben was mad at him and entertaining his half-assed conversations before going off on a rant at him. He hopes he tries to chew out The Handler, if only just because he knows it would annoy her.

She flaps a hand at him dismissively, glancing to the door.

“Eh, you know; around. They have lives here to attend to.”

“Mmm.” Ben shifts from foot to foot for a moment, and then he drops his arms to his sides and says, “I heard what you said to Vanya.”

The Handler blinks, eyebrows raising. “What did I say to her?”

“You were talking to her just like you spoke to Allison about Ray,” Ben accuses. He takes a step forward and the flickering hope somewhere deep, deep within Klaus violently resurges. Ben noticed that. Ben noticed the way she manipulated Allison, and now Vanya - The Handler can’t talk herself out of this. She can’t. 

(She has every other time before.)

She sighs, shoves down her irritation and shock. “Come on, you’re not seriously telling me I’m in the wrong here,” she says. “If Vanya brought Susan and her kid to the future, The Commission wouldn’t stop until they were dead - I’m saving Vanya from future heartbreak!”

“Sissy,” Ben corrects. “And you know Vanya could take out any Commission members easily, with a bit of training. And it’s not just that, either - you’ve been acting,” he pauses, lips twitching over a word before he rethinks his choice. “ _Weird._ Who were you talking to on the phone?”

“Christ, we’ve already spoken about this,” The Handler says, silently seething. “And associates! About the cult, about _us._ The same kind of people we’ve been talking to for two years now.”

Ben quirks an eyebrow; wanders over to the phone. “In… what was that, Swedish?”

“We were successful in Mexico and India,” The Handler says, not following him. “Why not branch out to Sweden? We need to up our game now if we want to keep it going. Mind you, with little Five getting the briefcase, we probably won’t get the chance now - but they don’t know that.”

Ben hums again, eyes stuck on the phone. “You don’t know Swedish,” he states. The Handler scoffs, shoves at Klaus in retaliation to his surge of triumph. 

“I know a ton of languages,” she says. 

“And Swedish isn’t one of them,” Ben replies. He turns around now, coming back to face her. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on, but you’re - you’re _wrong_. Something’s not right, Klaus. What are you doing? Who was that on the phone, and why are you doing this?”

For a long moment, the two of them simply stare at one another, a challenge in their eyes.

And then The Handler grins. His shoulders fall as she lets go of her tension and she spreads his hands out either side of him.

“You got me,” she says. “You’re right. Something’s wrong, Ben. Something’s wrong with me.”

“This isn’t funny, Klaus,” Ben says, frowning, less confident all of a sudden. 

“Oh, I think it is,” she insists, nodding. “I’m not sure if Klaus does.”

Obvious confusion flickers across Ben’s face. Of course, he doesn’t know what’s going on, doesn’t assume possession of all things is what’s happening. The Handler basks in his confusion for a moment, and if his heart were his own, it would be in his throat.

“What are you talking about?” Ben asks. The Handler holds a gentle smile on his face as she sighs and turns around, idly wandering as if this is no big deal to her.

“You know, with sobriety, my powers got stronger,” she drawls. Her fingers tap along one of Elliott’s desks; over newspaper clippings and photographs; any and all evidence of the Hargreeves’ that he could get for her.

“Of course,” says Ben, following quickly. 

“I could manifest you, make you corporeal; and then you could do it all yourself.”

“I can’t make myself corporeal.”

“Mmm, yes you can. I just make sure you can’t - it’s pretty easy to do that, honestly. But that’s unimportant, what with everything else I can do.”

Ben falters for a moment, but he puts what she said about him aside for now, thankfully. With narrowed eyes, he asks, “What else can you do?”

She turns; leans against the desk and cocks his head at Ben. “Well, it’s less-so what Klaus can do than what the ghosts can do, really. We found it by accident.”

“Found _what_?”

“Possession.” The Handler grins at him, and it feels too wide on his face; ill-fitting, as if his lips and teeth are wrong; as if they aren’t his own. There’s nothing to smile about here, but she can feel the cocky pride that she does; the sheer amusement at the whole situation; at Ben’s obliviousness and Klaus’ pain; at this little game she’s been playing for so long.

“Possession,” echoes Ben, his eyes widening a little in wonder. (A kind that sickens Klaus for a moment. Being corporeal is amazing to Ben, but it’s not the same as having a living body, and wouldn’t he kill for that chance, even if it had to be Klaus’ body?)

“Yup,” says The Handler. “Possession. And it’s been incredible for me. Poor Klaus never has had much luck with his powers benefitting him, has he?”

Ben’s frozen for a moment, as if he doesn’t know what to say (anything would be fine, Ben has to say _something,_ Ben knows now and he needs to do something, he has to, he has to-) and he just stares while The Handler gloats. Then, with narrowed eyes, in a quiet voice he asks, “Who are you?”

She laughs - _laughs_ at the rising horror in his voice. “Oh, Ben, it’s a little late to be asking that, isn’t it? Three years too late, in fact.”

Klaus can see the exact moment understanding washes over his brother, the moment that _three years_ sinks in. Ben shakes his head, weakly denying the enormity of what he’s been told. _Three years._ His chest heaves with gulps of air that the ghost doesn’t need, the whites of his eyes flashing as his face contorts into an expression of sheer revulsion. “No,” he says, voice trembling. “No. What- _Who are you?”_

The Handler sits on the desk, ankles crossed, and rolls her - _his -_ neck, as if this conversation is barely worth her time. “Now, now, dear. I thought we were friends!” She pouts, as if her feelings have been hurt - as if she’s capable of that.

“Don’t,” says Ben, but it’s not clear what he’s asking for. For her to stop talking? For her to stop telling the truth?

“We’ve been _bonding,_ haven’t we? Connecting?” she asks, relentless. “Don’t tell me that meant nothing to you.”

“You’re lying,” Ben chokes out. Even now, Klaus thinks, he won’t see what’s right in front of him - or maybe he doesn’t _want_ to see it. Maybe he wishes she had denied it, so he could keep this new, better version of Klaus.

She splays her hand across her chest. “Me? Maybe you’re mixing me up with the real Klaus. He always did have a proclivity for mistruths, didn’t he? Really, it just made it even easier to become him.”

Ben’s hands grasp at his hair, knuckles pale as he pulls on the dark strands. He looks strange, unhinged almost. Klaus can’t help but feel surprised; it seems a visceral reaction to have over _Klaus_ of all people. Or maybe it’s not about Klaus at all? Maybe he’s just sickened that he was so easily misled. “Stop. _Stop_ talking about him,” he hisses, and his jacket shifts in a way that doesn’t look natural.

“Well, _someone_ should be talking about him,” The Handler says. “He must be thinking you’ve forgotten all about him.”

“What- Does that mean he’s still in there?” A strange, raw sound escapes Ben’s throat, like a cut off sob, a wounded animal. _“Klaus?_ ”

It’s the first time anyone other than The Handler has acknowledged him in three years. Maybe Klaus should be excited, but all he can feel is a hollow sort of pity for Ben, thinking his brother is still here. Klaus might exist, might be listening, but he hasn’t been a person in a long time. 

“I don’t know whether I should tell you,” muses The Handler. “Maybe it’s kinder to tell you he’s gone. I could say he’s dead, that his soul passed on. I could say he gave up, that he ceased to exist, faded into nothing. At least that way, he wouldn’t be suffering. He wouldn’t know how much you failed him.”

Something protective flares in Klaus’ chest, despite how often he has bitterly thought the same thing.

Ben’s stance changes; he sets his feet, jaw tense. To some, it might look meaningless, but Klaus knows exactly what he’s threatening when his hands grip the bottom of his jacket like that. “Tell me the truth,” he demands, voice cold. “Is Klaus still in there?”

Looking the ghost up and down, she laughs, dismissive. “Silly boy. Don’t forget, _I_ choose when you manifest, not you.”

“How sure are you?” says Ben.

The Handler shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter. Even if you could manifest yourself, you can’t hurt me without hurting _him.”_

His hands drop from his jacket, defeated at the realisation that he can’t threaten her without threatening Klaus too. Klaus wishes he would just _do it._ Does it matter any more that this body used to be his? It doesn’t belong to him now, hasn’t for a long time. There’s no point in preserving it. Bitterly, Klaus thinks to himself that if he can’t have this body, no one should - and if that means taking it to his grave, so be it.

At this point, it wouldn’t be killing Klaus. It would be freeing him.

“Fuck,” breathes Ben. “Fucking _fuck.”_ He takes a few steps towards her, as if ready to throw a punch, but he stops at the last moment, squaring up to her with determined eyes. “I want to talk to him.”

She tilts her head. “Talk to Klaus? Are you sure about that?”

“Yes. I’m sure,” he grits out.

With a dubious gaze, The Handler says, “You don’t have to pretend with me, you know. We both know you were sick of him before I came along. You were _so grateful_ to me, for having taken your troublesome brother off of your hands.”

“Shut up,” snarls Ben, more livid than Klaus can remember ever seeing him. For once, he actually looks like a ghost.

“He’s so _whiny,_ isn’t he? All _woe-is-me, I’ve got daddy issues, I served in ‘Nam_ , blah-blah.” She rolls her eyes as Klaus shoves weakly against her, a pitiful retaliation. “He’s still just as pathetic, too. I can feel him in there, like an angsty little fly buzzing around my head. You’d think he’d be happy! I saved him from the depressing little downwards spiral his life was!” Her taunting had, at some point, turned into ranting, all the irritation she’s been pretending not to feel spilling to the surface.

“Fuck you,” Ben hisses. “You know _nothing_ about him, you have _no idea_ how much shit he’s been through.”

“Oh yes, I do,” she disagrees. “You told me all about it. In detail. Remember?”

He sucks in a breath.

“What did you think that was? Those fun little chats about Klaus’ trauma?” The Handler questions, giving Ben a look usually reserved for endearingly stupid animals. “Did you think you were finally getting through to him, finally getting him to open up?”

“I thought-” Ben starts, voice shaking, “I thought- you were getting sober, you were-” He shakes his head.

“Admittedly, I already knew some of it - you Hargreeves were rather infamous at my previous workplace - but you really helped flesh out some of the juicer details. It made it a whole lot easier to guilt all your siblings about it. Poor little Number Five, so desperate to save his siblings, even when he’s too late.”

A look of realisation hits Ben, and he takes an automatic step back. “You’re Commission.”

Her hands - _his hands -_ are held out, palm up. “You got me,” she concedes. “I’m Five’s former boss.”

“You- You _bitch,”_ Ben bites out.

A sound echoes through the building; the door being open and closed, and the sound of their siblings’ voices. Allison and Diego, by the sound of it, returning from their errands and already bickering. Something flits across Ben’s face, something hopeful.

The Handler gives him a pitying look. “They can’t help you. They haven’t even noticed something’s wrong. It took you three years, after all, and they’ve only been around me for a few days.”

“What about when they ask to speak to me?”

“And how long will that take?” she asks, narrowing in on his insecurity with razor precision. 

Ben rubs his palms over his eyes. “Fuck. What do you _want?”_ The question comes out rough and desperate.

The Handler looks at the clock, ticking away, and sighs. “What do I want,” she echoes, slipping out of the room and toward the back of the building. Ben is helpless to do anything but follow behind her. “It’s a good question. The only question that really matters. What do I want?” 

Her footsteps are almost silent as she makes her way to the door leading out into the alleyway - so unlike Klaus’ heavy, clumsy footfalls. At the doorway, she leans against the wall, crossing her arms, as if deep in thought. “Well, I want what everyone wants. I want to win.”

“Win?” Ben asks tersely.

“Mm. You see, Five and I have been locked in a battle of wits. I was so invested in besting him that I didn’t even consider whether that buffoon Hazel might be a threat. Our game got cut short, you see, and I have no interest in a _draw._ So consider this a rematch.”

Ben growls, “Is this a game to you?”

“Grow up,” she replies, lip curled. “Everything is a game. Five just happens to be the only worthy opponent I’ve ever encountered. He’s the only person worth winning against, and I _am_ going to win.”

A knock on the door. Quiet, and rhythmic, a distinctive pattern.

The Handler grins, all teeth. “They’re here.”

“Who’s here?” Ben asks, but she’s already flinging open the door to reveal three blonde almost-strangers. 

“Hallå,” The Handler greets them. ““


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for violence.

**1349**

Klaus should be feeling something right now. After all, this is the exact moment he's been dreading for years now. This is the worst case scenario, the fear that has lingered in his mind ever since he had worked out who The Handler was, staining every beat of his heart ( _ his  _ heart?) with cold, permeating terror.

It's here, now. This is the day his family dies. Today, his siblings are destined to a bloody end because of Klaus, because of his ineffectiveness and his weakness.

He's about to lose everything, so why does he feel nothing?

Maybe - it sickens him to even think it - but maybe it will be a relief. No more waiting, no more dreading. There will be nothing left to lose, nothing left to hold on for. He could just... let go. Allow the tides that batter at his consciousness to win, allow himself to drift into the dark until he knows nothing but oblivion.

He wonders if, once he lets go, whether his soul might be free to join his siblings, whether he will be able to move on to wherever they go. Maybe. Probably not. Either way, it will be over, and that will be enough.

(If he does, somehow, find his siblings in the afterlife, then he will ask for their forgiveness. Maybe oblivion would be kinder.)

For now, he will hold on. He will bear witness to whatever comes next. He owes his family that much.

So that’s what he does. He watches as The Swedes check over their weapons, disengaging the safety (a motion familiar to Klaus from all the times he had done the same in Vietnam). He watches as the men take something from their pockets and fit them into their ears. Earplugs, he realises. They’ve come prepared.

Ben is looking at him - at  _ him,  _ at  _ Klaus,  _ for the first time in so long - with a look of anguish that Klaus wishes he could turn away from. The Handler has no such qualms. She winks at the ghost, and says, “I hope you enjoy the show.”

“I hope you rot in hell,” Ben spits, but his voice is thin and reedy with fear, and she laughs in the face of it.

The Swedes are marching deeper into the building, and The Handler spins on her heel and follows like a shadow, quiet and slinking, as if her feet don’t quite touch the ground. It’s a dead contrast to The Swedes, who are sturdy and unyielding as they kick open the first door they come to, which leads out onto the shop floor, and fan out in loose V. Upstairs, Allison and Diego continue to bicker unwittingly, taking no notice of the door banging open (which probably says something about Klaus’ siblings and their proclivity for dramatic entrances.)

“You can’t just,” Ben says, “ _ kill everyone!” _

The Handler quirks an eyebrow, as if to say,  _ watch me,  _ before ducking into the shadow of the stairs, where she'll have a good view of the bloodshed without having to concern herself with getting involved.

A head pops up over the bulky shells of 60’s televisions. Elliott’s puzzled expression bleeds into horror as his eyes flick from the strangers in his shop to the guns in their hands.

And then there are no more expressions on Elliott’s face. After taking a shotgun round at close range, he doesn’t _ have  _ much of a face.

Allison and Diego have stopped arguing; a gunshot is hard for even them to ignore. In the ensuing silence, Klaus can hear the heavy thud of Elliott’s body hitting the ground, and the thick gurgle of air escaping the dead tissue that had been his lungs. 

Then, the sound of someone leaping down the stairs, the thump of heavy boots, and Diego's voice yelling, " _ Elliott _ ." 

Klaus had always suspected that Diego might be the first one to die. He's always been impulsive, the type to rush in without a scrap of forethought. Guns whirl in his direction. Klaus tries to call out, but it's useless as always, he can't do anything to help, and now he's going to watch his brother die in front of him just like Ben had and it's going to be his fault-

_ Thwip. _

"Oh, fuck."

The only thing that saves Diego from a hail of bullets is the fact that The Swedes have automatically aimed at the new threat - Five, standing in the centre of the room.

Another flash of blue, and their bullets sail harmlessly into a row of televisions.

Diego has taken the opportunity to scurry to shelter, but The Swedes don’t concern themselves with where exactly he is. Instead they spray bullets at random, tearing through the television sets like tissue paper. Klaus can only pray that his brothers took cover somewhere safe. 

“ _ I heard a rumour,”  _ a voice roars out, and from The Handler's hiding place, Klaus can just about see Allison standing atop the overhand, her hands clenched around the railing, “ _ that you all put your guns down.” _

The Swedes look up at her, fierce and determined and sure as she rumours them into submission. Then, without missing a beat, they raise their weapons and fire.

“ _ Allison!”  _ cries a voice that can only be Luther, and then there’s a thud, a gasp - a grunt of pain.

Oh god.

Oh. Fuck. 

The guttural sound of hurt makes him think of Dave, of Ben, of death and dying and blood-

And all the fear that Klaus had pushed down is flooding to the surface, and he’s drowning in it, it’s in his lungs and he can’t breathe except he  _ keeps breathing because they’re not his lungs and he doesn’t want this, he doesn’t want it, just make it stop please make it stop- _

“Luther!” yells Five, and he sounds  _ afraid.  _ Klaus never wanted to know what it sounds like for Five to be terrified, but now he knows, now he’ll always know how scared he was before he watched his family die-

"I’m okay,” Luther says, but his voice is rough and tight in a way that only accompanies bleeding. 

A knife flies, curves in mid air towards a blond head, but the hitman flicks it out of the air with the barrel of his gun.

And whilst he's focused on that knife, Five appears behind on his back and stabs another into his jugular.

There is no death gurgle, no rattling gasp; he's dead before he hits the floor.

The tallest of the gunmen whirls in time to see it happen, and Klaus thinks they must be brothers; the sound of wordless anguish that rips from his throat is full of a pain that Klaus knows well. He fires wildly in Five's direction, but he's already gone.

The Swedes are one man down. Klaus hasn't heard Luther make a noise in a while now; maybe The Hargreeves are too.

Klaus can barely dare to hope that by the end of this fight - when time comes for Five to face The Handler - there might still be someone left on his side.

Someone left to end this, once and for all.

  
  


**1204**

_ The Handler hums to herself, lathering the length of his calf with soap, before reaching for her razor. It’s routine, at this point.  _

_ “You used to hate this,” she says conversationally. “You’d always be flitting around like a caged bird, all anxious and panicked.” _

_ With another stroke of the razor, The Handler adds, “I don’t know what you were so worried about. There’s nothing to gain from hurting this body, after all.” _

_ It might have been convincing, but Klaus knows her too well; she derives pleasure from other people’s suffering, and that’s reason enough to be afraid. _

_ “Now, you don’t feel anxious. You feel…” Trailing off, she waves the razor through the air, an absent gesture. “Wishful. You feel wishful.”  _

_ Klaus thinks, with as much venom as he can muster,  _ fuck you.

_ She laughs. “Oh, don’t be so ornery. I’m not judging you. I just don’t want you to get your hopes up.” With false sweetness, she says, “I plan to live a long second life. So, no. You don’t get to die. Not any time soon.” _

_ But she can’t know that, right? Even The Handler can’t control death. She might be treating his body with kindness, but Klaus never had, and surely that will catch up with her eventually? _

_ “Is it really so bad? Living with me?” She pouts, as if she’s hurt. _

_ It’s a funny thing to say; Klaus hasn’t been living for a long, long time. _

  
  


**1349**

The Handler watches the Swede’s body drop to the floor with the beginnings of a frown on his face and disappointment emanating from her. Quickly though, she forgets about him and looks up, where Five is just standing by the body. His feet have only just hit the floor and his hands are glowing again but in the millisecond before he disappears, his eyes meet The Handler’s gaze. His brow furrows, then he’s gone, just as the remaining two Swedes rain bullets on where he’d just be, driven by grief. He can feel The Handler’s irritation at them ditching her plan and going after Five. She presses his lips together, frowning, and spares another moment to look around; at the body nearby. Her gaze falls on the glint of light on metal and she bends down, yanking out the knife from the Swede’s neck that Five used. It’s one of Diego’s and she tests her grip on it and then, pleased, tucks it into her waistband, hiding it with her shirt.

Then she rocks on his heels, exhales, shakes his hands out, and runs forwards.

Stepping out of her hiding spot, Klaus can better see the fight and all the damage around the place; all the bullet holes, all the stuff that’s been trashed and broken. Elliot’s out-stretched arm and the blood staining his stiff hand. Luther’s blood splatter along the wall by the stairs, smeared over the railing. He can’t see Allison or Luther, but he can see Diego taking cover, and he catches sight of Vanya disappearing upstairs. 

“What’s-” calls The Handler, but is swiftly interrupted by Diego.

“Klaus, get down!” He yells, and so The Handler plays her part and ducks down, even though the Swedes never make a move towards her; don’t even look back at her. She places his hands over his ears lightly and pokes his head up to be able to watch the fight again. Five flashes all over the place, moving just before the Swedes can get a shot on him or advance on him. Allison’s head periodically pokes in and out of sight, eyes wide. Is she with Luther? Klaus hopes his brother isn’t alone. 

(It had happened to Dave too quickly. He was slipping by the time Klaus turned him over, eyes unfocused, but he could still remember the desperation and fear on his face; remember the way his fingers had brushed his chest and pinched his shirt with the last of his strength in a struggle to get help - to get comfort - to know someone was there for him. Klaus had been too late, though. He just hopes that Luther didn’t die with that same desperation and fear, thinking he was alone.)

Five flashes again; by the Swede’s body, grabbing the gun, disappearing again. He stumbles this time, when he lands atop the stairs and has to lean against the wall. A gunshot echoes, followed by the sound of a body falling and another barrage of bullets; Five is gone as holes appear in the wall he’d been leaning against. He doesn’t get far; the gun clatters to the ground when he lands and he drops to one knee, breathing heavily and pale.

The remaining Swede’s eyes are wide. It’s the same horrified, frenzied look Klaus saw in ‘Nam, in the midst of all the action, when bodies were dropping like flies, the bodies of people that were like family and who had been discussing how they’d find one another when their tour ended only an hour earlier. He looks rapidly between the bodies beside him, face paling, jaw clenching, and then he turns his gaze to Five, who is still composing himself, and he raises his gun.

The Handler shifts, eyes narrowed and muscles tensing. Klaus can feel her about to spring forward, because of course she has to be the one to kill Five and disgust at the Swede’s failure seeps through to Klaus. She had hoped they would have been able to take down more of them - all of them, really - and Klaus knows that she’s going to make her displeasure known and kill the last Swede herself, with his own hands.

Before she has a chance, though, a pen flies through the air. It curves around the Swede’s head and lands directly in one of his eyes. He cries out, and his gun cocks upwards as he pulls the trigger, unloading the bullet into the ceiling instead of Five. He still holds it though, in the one hand that hasn’t flown to his injury, and so The Handler jumps forward. She manages to yank the gun from his hand and bring the butt of it against his head all in a swift, trained movement, and when he crumples to the floor she holds him there with a foot on his chest and the gun pressed against his cheek. 

The Swede cracks open his other eye to stare up at her, but whether he really feels surprised at this betrayal, Klaus can’t see it beyond his pain and grief written all over his face. The Handler spares him a glare and then looks around, facade falling into place.

“Guys? What the hell happened? Is everyone okay? I step out for air for a second and you have some creepy murderers after you.”

Diego, closest to Klaus, hurries over. His eyes flick between his face and the gun in his hands, shocked and perhaps even a bit wary. At least he has the sense of mind to prioritise grabbing something to tie the Swede’s wrists together before voicing any comments on Klaus’ sudden willingness to fight and point a gun at someone. 

“Where the hell were you, bro? They just stormed in,” he says. He nudges his knee, so The Handler moves his foot from the Swede’s chest. The gun lingers in her grasp for several moments before she tosses it aside with a sigh. She makes a dismissive noise at Diego before looking up. Vanya is trying to coax Five into sitting for a moment but, predictably, he ignores her and chooses to just lean against the railing instead, eyes boring into the Swedes with a grim expression. 

“Are they okay down there?”

The Handler freezes for a moment; so does Klaus, though for the opposite reason. Whilst irritation floods through The Handler, a wave of relief crashes over Klaus. Luther is talking. He sounds a bit breathless and pinched, but he’s talking, and not choking, not gasping, not gurgling, not deadly silent. He’s… okay. 

Much to The Handler’s great displeasure.

“Yeah, yeah,” says Allison. “I don’t think they got hurt - sit down, Luther-”

It’s a small victory. Luther is still hurt. Klaus doesn’t even know how bad, but Allison doesn’t sound afraid, and Five hasn’t killed the other Swede in a grief-fuelled rage, so Klaus convinces himself it can’t be that bad. Maybe it just grazed him. Maybe he was just shocked by it, rather than really hurt. Klaus tells himself that to soothe his nerves.

(If there’s another fight, Luther’s going to be vulnerable. He knows this. The Handler knows this. Maybe it would have been better for the bullet to have been fatal. At least then Klaus wouldn’t have to feel his own hands taking his brother’s life.)

Ben hovers around upstairs, looking between everyone with his arms folded over his chest and glaring at The Handler, even if she never pays him any attention. Every so often Klaus can see him stick a hand out, trying to interact with something physical, but The Handler has cut off his ability to do so and it fails. If nothing else, he at least looks a little smug that The Handler’s attack failed, which digs beneath her skin and makes her grit his teeth.

“Who are you?” Diego asks, glaring at the remaining Swede. He’s retrieved a couple of knives at some point, keeping both in his hands, a silent threat. The Swede holds his gaze and stays silent. 

“Commission,” says Five. He makes his way down the stairs slowly, with Ben following over his shoulder as if he might be able to protect him. “They fight like the Commission.”

“Commission?” groans Luther, and is promptly told to sit back down by Allison.

“Those guys?  _ Again _ ?” says Diego, eyebrow arched. 

“It was only a matter of time before they came, really,” he mutters. He stands over the Swede, eying him as if he might be able to read his mind and figure out the situation. 

“Then we should go before more come, right?” Vanya suggests. 

“Yeah. Get rid of this guy and find somewhere more safe… fuck, we shouldn’t have stayed with Elliott. Dragged him right into the middle of our shit,” says Diego. His fingers curl tighter around his knives, a flare of anger flashing over his face. “He was innocent.”

“We can’t just get rid of him,” blurts The Handler, drawing attention to herself and several quizzical looks. She spreads his hands out. “I mean - he could know their next move, or where they’re hiding out. You’re not even going to try to ask him if he knows anything that would be useful in us not being ambushed again?” It’s a thinly veiled excuse for violence. Klaus is pretty sure the guy doesn’t speak English, so he won’t be giving them any useful information - nor ratting The Handler out, for that matter. 

Diego presses his lips together, frowning and looking away. “What, you want to interrogate him?”

“Well, I didn’t say that; that sounds bad. I thought you were all for beating up bad guys anyway, bro.”

“You think we can get something out of him?” Five asks, eyebrow raised sceptically. The Handler smiles a little.

“Worth a try, isn’t it? If nothing else, we leave, the Commission comes and finds their shitty goons dead and a little… roughed up. Might give us more time, don’t you think?”

“Roughed up?” Vanya echoes. She’s made her way down the stairs too. There’s blood on her hands; probably Luther’s. The Handler chuckles.

“I mean, I don’t think the guy is going to speak without a little persuasion,” she drawls. “Even one eye down, he’s not said a word. Might take a little more than that.” She turns to the Swede, eyebrow raised, and nudges his arm. “What about a hand?”

“What the fuck, Klaus?” Diego says, glaring at him. The Handler jumps back and puts on a sheepish expression.

“You’re the one who stabbed him in the eyeball!” she exclaims. “Sheesh, it was just an idea; I don’t hear anyone else contributing anything.” 

Klaus can’t help but reach out and shove at her. He can’t help the frustration he feels with the aftershock of his fear and horror after the fight; he feels as if he wants to tear his own hair out.  _ How  _ do they not see anything wrong with him? He’s always been morbid, sure, making jokes that he never realised were as bad as they were until they always made his siblings squirm, but - mutilation? Do they really think he’d suggest that? Is he really that kind of a person?

The Handler bats back at him, but it’s disinterested. She’s irritated after the failure that was The Swedes, at the lack of Luther actually being dead, at coming so close only for this opportunity to slip through her fingers. She’s all pent up energy and she probably wants to expend it all on beating the Swede up and making his corpse unrecognisable, and then follow it with by going in a sulk and wallowing in her own narcissism. 

Klaus realises that that means; she’s distracted. Lazy. 

Ben has been circling them all like a hawk, but she has barely even glanced at him after letting the Swedes in, and not at all since the fight stopped. He’s not a threat to her, and she doesn’t worry about him at all. She doesn’t think about the ghosts now; with all her attention on reaching her end goal, so close in sight, of killing the living. 

Her grip on his powers is slack. Loose. Half-heartedly blocking it from reaching out to Ben. 

She might have his body; might have fooled his whole family; but she’s only managed to do so through use of Klaus’ own powers. They’re still his - part of  _ him  _ rather than tied to his physical body. So when he reaches out, it reaches back. When he pushes it forwards, it goes. He can create little cracks in The Handler’s barrier, just enough to let a tiny sliver of power, unnoticeable, slip out and towards the only ghost in the room; Ben.

When Ben steps forwards to continue his pacing, his foot smears the blood on the floor. He feels it instantly, freezing and eyes widening, like he used to when they were just getting the hang of making him corporeal and all of a sudden he can feel the world again. His eyes snap to The Handler, but she’s still focused on talking to the others. Ben’s eyebrows furrow. He steps forwards; leaves behind a footprint in blood. Klaus feels giddy; almost dizzy with a surge of desperation and manic hope.

“Klaus?” he says, quiet, hesitant. Klaus shoves on the flow of power again, trying to urge Ben to do something with this tiny window of opportunity they have. With wide eyes, Ben reaches for Five’s shoulder-

His hand turns transparent and falls through. Five shivers. Blood still smears beneath his feet. Klaus shoves again, desperate, because he needs to do  _ something,  _ he  _ has  _ to, this is the only opportunity he might ever have and he can’t do anything else so Ben has to do  _ something. _

With eyes watching The Handler - watching him - Ben takes a few steps forwards, off to the side. A little behind The Handler, almost out of her sight; Klaus can only see him out of the corner of his vision. He crouches down, dips his fingers in the blood on the floor - Elliott’s, the Swede’s, Klaus isn’t sure - and he begins to write. 

Klaus fears that any moment now, The Handler will sense what he’s doing - the interference with her barrier, the hope and fear and determination Klaus is feeling - or that she’ll turn around and see Ben right there, and it’ll be up. But she doesn’t. She watches as Diego hauls the Swede to his feet, only to drop him back onto a nearby chair. She looks back at Five. Five’s eyes are narrowed, staring just past her, down, at the floor, while he stands very still. He looks back up at her.

“It’s worth a try,” he says slowly. “Maybe he does know something. If not, finding their soldiers like this will certainly make the Commission hesitate and re-plan their next move. Thanks, Klaus. If not for you, he would have shot me. I would have died.”

The Handler blinks, but then she smiles. “Well, I couldn’t just let that happen now, could I? What a boring way that would have been for you to go out, too; think more of yourself, Five.”

“Right,” says Five. His eyes flick to the floor and back up. “Mind if I talk to you for a moment, Klaus?” He nods his head towards the back door, still open from the Swede’s entrance, leading out into the alleyway. The Handler’s eyes narrow a fraction. Five adds, “it’s about your time with Hazel and Cha-Cha. I assumed you wouldn’t want to talk about that right here.” He gives a pointed look to the chaos around them; steps to the door.

“Well, sure thing, brother,” she drawls, and follows after him without glancing back.


End file.
